Spring
by btyrhrtout
Summary: The second in a series of four stories about the first twelve months after The Battle of Hogwarts. Now with chewy caramel center!
1. Chapter 1

It was raining. Hard.

He could see an intersection from his seat next to the window; it looked like a lake. Cars driving through caused waves that sloshed over the curbs, and left a roiling, churning mess in their wake that greatly resembled the sea. The buildings had an indistinct look to them, their edges and lines blurred by the sheets of water pouring from the sky. Everything in sight was grey and hazy-looking.

"A refill, love?"

He looked up. The waitress stood over him, a coffee pot tipped vacillatingly towards his cup. "Please." Her heavy arm moved, and a stream of coffee poured into the mug. "Thanks."

"Certainly, biscuit." She looked out the window as he began to spoon sugar into his coffee. "It's really chucking it down out there, eh?"

He turned to the window, took in the depressing sight once more, and then looked back up the waitress. Her ill-fitting yellow uniform and bright, dyed-orange hair seemed almost obscene in contrast to the bleakness out the window. "Yeah."

She smiled down at him. "You call me if you need anything."

"Okay."

He added some milk to his coffee, stirred, and brought it to his mouth as he stared yet again out the window. It was hot, but nearly flavourless. That was fine, though; the anodyne taste matched the weather. And the weather was a very accurate reflection of his mood.

For nearly a month, he'd dreaded this day. For the past week, he'd been in a temper so foul that, by Tuesday, Ron had all but stopped talking to him. He snapped at everyone in sight, even customers. Verity and Ron had taken over the sales floor, leaving him to sulk in the store room or over paperwork in the office. When he'd woken up that morning to hear rain pounding against the roof, he'd taken small comfort in the fact that he wouldn't be facing the day amidst blue skies and spring breezes.

Across the street, a lone pedestrian came into view, nearly hidden by a large black umbrella, save for the bottom of a dark cagoule and a pair of bright pink wellies. He watched, taking a grim sort of pleasure watching the person come to a full stop at the edge of the water that filled the intersection, as though waiting for a bridge to magically appear. He snickered to himself as the person backed up and then started towards the flooded street at a run, crossing the anomalous pond in four or five large leaps. Spurts of water erupted from beneath the pink boots, which sent waves over the curb once more.

The chuckle died in his throat as the puddle-jumper hurried into the vestibule of the café and began shedding her rain gear. It was Paige.

She entered the café and, with each step she took towards the table, the pink boots squelched wetly. His stomach clenched tightly, like a fist, and then released. Uninvited, she sat down across from him, offered him a small smile. "Hello, George."

"Hi."

"Sorry I'm late. It's raining."

"I'd noticed."

The waitress appeared again at the table. "Get you something, precious?"

"Do you have Earl Grey?" she asked hopefully.

"Naturally."

"Oh, good. Let me get a cup of that, and some toast." She waited until the waitress had walked back to the kitchen to turn back to him. "I can't believe she called me precious. It makes me feel like Gollum."

"Yeah." He had no idea what she was talking about. "You've had your hair cut."

"Oh, yeah. You haven't."

He ran his hand through his hair, which was indeed becoming very long. "No."

They lapsed into a long, awkward silence. The waitress returned with a cup of steaming tea and a plate of toast, set it in front of Paige, and faded into the background once again. Still, they did not speak. He watched as she added sugar and milk to her cup and stirred until it became the prescribed colour of grey. She sniffed it, sipped it, then set it back down and looked up at him.

Biting her lip, she finally folded her hands onto the tabletop and spoke. "I appreciate you coming and meeting me here today."

"No problem."

"I didn't expect all of this to happen."

"Neither did I." he replied, in a tone harsher than he'd anticipated.

She bristled. "I'm not exactly overjoyed about this. And neither is my boyfriend." she added, after a pause.

"You have a boyfriend?" This was news to him, but perhaps it was the way out he'd been hoping for.

Her tone was resentful. "Not anymore."

"But--"

"Not as though it's any of your business, but we weren't together when I came here in December. We'd been doing the long-distance thing too long, and we took a break after Thanksgiving. We got back together in January."

"All right. Take it easy. I just meant, if you have a boyfriend, how do you know…?" He couldn't even bring himself to say the words.

She finished the sentence for him in clipped tones. "How do I know it's yours?"

He nodded.

Paige laughed, but it was a harsh, joyless sound. "Because Eric lives in California, which is 3000 miles away from where I live. I haven't seen him in six months. And, believe it or not, I haven't slept with anyone else besides you in that short time. So congratulations, George, you're gonna be a dad." Her voice had risen steadily until she was practically yelling.

The handful of other patrons in the coffee shop, as well as the waitress, were all staring at her. A sweaty, round-faced man in a stained white apron peered out of the window that opened into the kitchen. Paige's face turned scarlet, and George felt his own growing hot.

Without warning, she jumped to her feet. "It was stupid of me to come here." she said, voice wavering, though whether it was due to fury or tears he could not tell. Everyone in the small café was still watching with great interest. He half-rose out of his seat and grabbed for her wrist as she started for the door. One the second try, he caught it.

"Wait."

She did not turn to him, but at least stopped forward locomotion. At the counter, a narrow-faced young woman in a business suit was watching with immense curiosity, her mouth hanging slightly open so that she resembled a fish.

"Don't you people have current events to discuss?" he snapped to the room at large. The eyes fell from their tableside drama, but he knew the ears were still listening. He turned back to Paige. "Please, would you sit back down?" he asked, a shade of urgency in his voice.

She glared at him for a moment, the dropped her purse back into the booth and sat back down. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry." He sighed, withdrawing his hand from her wrist. "Really, I didn't mean to imply anything."

"Oh, is that right?"

"I'm being honest. It's just… I'm having a hard time trying to wrap my head around this one."

"Me too." she said with a groan, slumping forward onto the table and bracing her head with her hand. She looked as miserable as he felt.

"So, uh, how much time do we have?"

"'Til what?"

"You know. A baby."

"Oh. Right. Well, uh, I'm due the third week September. The twentieth, actually"

"Oh. This year?" She looked up, raised an eyebrow at him. "That was a stupid question, sorry."

"It's all right." After a pause, she took a long, noisy sip of her tea, then another. "Oh, I moved here, by the way." she added with forced casualness, setting the cup down and looking intently at it's surface.

He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I live in London now. When I got here a few days ago, I brought as much stuff as I could. I live in a little apartment near Katie."

"Katie?" He automatically pictured Katie Bell, who seemed to figure into a lot of equations these days.

"My friend Katie. Why I came here in December, to go to her wedding."

"Oh. Really?" He was surprised-- this was the last thing he had expected to hear, and whether it simplified or complicated things even further, he wasn't entirely sure. "Any particular reason?"

"She found me the place, it's not much, but it's--"

"No, I mean, any particular reason why you moved here?"

She shrugged, a quick, defeated gesture. "I didn't know what else to do. And I've always liked it here. You want this?" she asked, pushing her toast across the table to him. He shook his head, but started slathering it with jam nevertheless. "I know some people here. And I guess I didn't want to raise a kid in New Jersey, and this seemed about as far away as I could get without having to learn a different language." A long sigh escaped her lips. "But it seems ridiculous, really, now that I've been here for three days."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I know about six people in London, and you're one of them. Because I'm working at that same place, the place I was at in December, and I'll have to stop as soon as I start to show. Because, as usual, I didn't really think more than a few months into the future, just bought a ticket and came out here on a whim." Her voice hitched. "I didn't decide until the night before I got on the plane."

"But what about your family?"

Her face was hidden behind her hand, her hair hanging over it and obscuring it further. "My mother and I have a nodding relationship. I doubt she'll notice I'm gone, but, on the off-chance she does, I left her a note." This astounded George. He had to go out of his way to avoid his mother; having one that didn't notice the comings and goings of their offspring, even their grown offspring, boggled the mind.

"Your dad?"

"I haven't seen him since I was seven."

"Brothers? Sisters?" He was clutching at straws.

She shook her head, straightened up to face him again. "Neither."

"Couldn't you have gone to stay with your boyfriend or something?"

"George, do you honestly know any guys who would raise a baby that isn't theirs?"

He did, in fact, and he was going to tell her about Percy, but changed his mind. The last thing he wanted her to do was make an even bigger scene. "No. What about some friends?"

"All my friends have their own lives. Most everyone's married. When I told Katie I was pregnant, she told me that I should make the trip out here to talk to you face to face. And, if I seriously wanted to move to London, she'd help me get set up. But I'm not so sure she really expected me to come here so quickly."

He hesitated, not quite sure how to proceed. "I'll help you out."

"I'm not telling you all this so you'll feel sorry for me, or because I want you to do anything for me."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You don't know anything about me, other than what I've just told you."

_This is true, _he thought as he looked at her, really looked at her. She didn't look like a stripper right now, with her make-up free face and short, shaggy haircut. She looked like a girl he'd known from school, or one that would come into his shop. Just some girl. _Correction_, said the voice that sounded like Fred's. _The girl that's carrying your exceedingly attractive, genetically superior spawn._

"What are you laughing at?" she asked sharply.

He quickly became sombre-faced once more. "Just the absurdity of the situation."

It was her turn now to look at him closely. To his amazement, she shook her head and smiled. "You're right. It's like an after-school special. A really, really lame after-school special." She chuckled. "You know something, though?"

"What?"

"This is going to be one damn good-looking kid, what with us as parents."

Well, there was one thing they had in common-- a sarcastic inner monologue. _Hey_, Fred's voice protested, _I am _not _your inner monologue_. Oh, Godric, he was cracking up.

"George? Are you all right?"

He shook his head, blinked at the scuffed surface of the table. "Yeah, sorry. I, uh, haven't been sleeping well." It wasn't a lie, ever since Valentine's Day he'd barely been able to sleep more than four or five hours at a time.

"I hear that."

Once again, the conversation had petered out into a heavy silence. Outside, a Volkswagen of indeterminate colour was trying to traverse the submerged intersection. Its progress was very slow. Inside, the other patrons seemed more interested in their dining partners or their pie once again, though some of them still stole occasional glances at their table.

"Can I tell you something?"

He nodded. "Sure. It seems unlikely you could shock me any more than you already have."

"I feel really bad about calling that girl's phone. But I was afraid that, if I didn't, you wouldn't have known. And I figured, ya know, you should have the opportunity to know your own kid."

_Your own kid_. It sounded like a foreign language. "It's all right. I understand why you did it."

"I mean, it was Valentine's Day and all… I hope I didn't get you in trouble?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, if you were out on a date, or something."

"Me? Nope. I'm not really a relationship type of guy." Unless you counted avoiding relationships-- he'd been playing dumb at Alicia Spinnet's advances for weeks, and was getting rather good at it.

She seemed to have misinterpreted this statement. "I don't want to be your girlfriend, George."

Where had she come up with that? "Okay? That's not what I meant."

"Sorry." Sheepishly, she smiled at him. "What I meant was, I had to tell my boyfriend after I talked to you, and… well, it didn't exactly go well, and I hope you avoided the same thing."

"Oh, yeah, it was okay. Hermione came and found me, told me what was going on, let me use her phone to call you." He did not add that Ron had been furious about his plans for proposing being ruined, or the fact that, after he'd talked to her on the phone, he'd went back into the pub and gotten appallingly smashed. The waitress that Oliver hadn't been able keep his mitts off of had offered up a generous discount, and he had taken full advantage, and then some. But there was no reason to mention these minor details. "What did your boyfriend say?"

"Nothing I feel like repeating." Her eyes drifted from his face and focused on some point out the window. "Does it always rain this much here?"

"Not all at once." He checked his watch. Ron and Verity were at the shop, he wasn't concerned about that, but it _did _worry him that he still didn't have very much information about this entire situation. "Look, Paige, I have to ask. What do you want to… do? How are we going to make this work?"

She turned from the window and fixed back on him. Her eyes were a very dark brown, and after a moment, he shifted uncomfortably under their unwavering gaze. "Well," she said slowly, "I'm not really sure. Like I said, I don't really know anyone around here, and I'm still getting settled. I don't even have a phone yet, or a doctor, or anything. Do you… are you interested in coming to the doctor with me? Sometimes?" she added hurriedly.

It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about a Healer, or a mid-witch, or whatever it was the Muggles went to when they found themselves in the family way. He could just remember the ancient old crone that had delivered Ginny; she had come to the Burrow one day in the early part of summer-- he couldn't remember the time frame exactly, but it made sense-- while he and Fred had been helping their mother hang out the wash, laid her hands on their mother's stomach, and told them they'd be having a sister. Mum claimed to have used her for each one of her pregnancies, which was more than plausible-- the mid-witch looked older than Ravenclaw. "Yeah, sure. I mean, if you want me to."

"That'd be fine."

"Okay."

"Other than that, how involved you want to be is up to you. I just… well, once the baby gets here, I hope that… well, I mean…." She stumbled over her words, blushed a deep plum. "Well, I'd like to avoid a Montel Williams moment, ya know, I'm in no hurry to haul you off to family court for child support."

_What the hell is she talking about?_ Fred's voice asked gleefully, echoing his thoughts as they frequently did. Was it possible that, somewhere out of sight, his twin was lounging on a cloud in white pyjamas, enjoying this? Or was it just his imagination? His Galleons were on the latter.

"Uh, yeah, I know what you mean." He didn't, not at all, but this is what he assumed he should say. "Don't worry about that."

The effect was what he'd hoped it would be. "Oh, that's great. Thank you, that really makes me feel better."

"Don't mention it." Instead of amusing him that this was turning into a regular business transaction, it actually made him feel rather ill at ease.

After a long minute of silence, during which she drummed her fingers nervously on the tabletop, Paige met his eyes again, then quickly looked away. "Well, um… like I said, I don't have a phone yet, so you can't call me. Do you want me to tell you where I live, just in case you need to get in touch with me?"

"Okay."

She pulled a pen out of her bag and drew a complicated map on the back of a napkin, printed "Paige's Address" across the top in large letters. "Here." she said, sliding it across the tabletop quickly, as though she was afraid he was going to run out of the café without it.

"Thanks." A thought occurred to him, and it caused a queasy feeling to spread across his belly. "Do you want my address?" How was he going to accomplish this? He wasn't even sure she could see The Leaky Cauldron.

"Oh, no, that's all right, I don't think I could find my way."

"But what if you need to speak with me? Will you call Hermione again?"

She looked somewhat relieved. "I can do that. I've gotten rid of my cell phone service, but I… I still have the number."

It was his turn to feel mildly reassured that, in case of baby emergency, she could get in touch with him. "Good."

"Look, I'm going to get going in a few minutes, but… well, this is kind of embarrassing… I'm kind of in a weird place, and I know we don't have much in common… but I'd really appreciate it if you'd be my friend right now."

This request startled him, and, at the same time, made him feel rather sorry for her. "Sure. Yeah, I can do that."

"Thanks. I appreciate you being so cool." She got to her feet and pulled a battered wallet from her bag, bright green and patterned with cherries. "Here. she said, withdrawing a few bills and placing them on the table. "Is this right? I'm having some trouble with the dollars-pounds thing."

George, who still had to consult Bill about the Galleons-to-pounds formula, pushed it back in her direction. "You don't have to give this to me."

"I can't buy you coffee?"

"I can't buy you tea and toast?"

"_Touché_." she said lightly, smirking down at him with dozy eyes, and he was reminded of why he'd slept with her in the first place. "Still, I suggest you take it now, while people'll still pay to see my boobs."

He had no response, which wasn't something that happened frequently. She just laughed and leaned down to kiss his cheek. Some bizarre reflex made his turn his head, so that she caught him full on the mouth.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." he said as she pulled away, looking exasperated. "Force of habit, I guess, the last time we saw each other…." He trailed off, mortified. Fred's voice laughed uproariously in the back of his head.

"It's okay." she said, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "Say, you want to meet here again in a few weeks? That'll save the trouble of me having to call your friend, and I can tell you what's been going on?"

"Sure."

"Okay. April first?"

"Oh, uh, that's my birthday--"

"Well, happy birthday, then. How about the following week? The eighth?"

"Same time?"

"Sure."

"Yeah, that'd be all right. Well, stay dry. I'll see you later."

Her boots still squeaked against the floor as she went back out into the foyer. In a detached sort of way he watched as she pulled on her raincoat, mulling over the fact that somewhere in there, beneath layers of skin and blood and tissue and vulcanised rubber, there was a tiny little entity that would grow into something that resembled him. He wondered if it'd have red hair. Freckles. If she'd agree to name it Fred, if it was a boy.

_Oi, are we feeling sentimental_? taunted Fred's voice. _Half an hour ago, you were hoping she didn't show. Now there's maudlin gasping over family names for the thing. Georgie's getting so mature._

"Shut up." he muttered.

"What, love?"

Startled, he looked up. The waitress was once again hovering over him, smiling keenly. No doubt she'd set off on an intrusive line of questioning now that he was alone. "Sorry."

"No need to be, dear. Can I get you anything else?"

"Oh, uh, no. I'll just take the bill, please."

She pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her stunningly yellow dress and placed it gently in front of him, clucking sympathetically all the while. "Poor duck, going to be father at your age-- forgive me, but I couldn't help but overhear-- if you don't mind me asking, love, how old might you be?"

He was going to state his age as thirty-seven, but decided that it would be a waste of good sarcasm. "Twenty-one."

"And your friend?"  
That was an excellent question. "The same." It was a guess, completely and totally. He had the feeling that she might have mentioned her age in passing, and it might have been older than he, but he couldn't be sure.

"Well, flower, I imagine that there's scads of couples even younger than you, all in the same boat. Things'll turn out all right, I imagine."

"Well, I hope so." he replied, standing up and laying the money on top of the bill and placing it in her hand. "But I'm afraid what our parents will say. See, she's my cousin."

With that, he walked out of the café into the rain, cackling to himself as Fred's voice congratulated him for leaving the dumbfounded waitress staring after him, pound notes drifting to the floor like dead leaves.

XxX

The door opened, and Hermione's joyous expression fell by a few degrees. "Oh, hi, George. I thought you might be Ron. Come on in." she said, moving back to let him in.

"Good to see you too, Granger. I was invited, might I remind you." He stepped over the threshold and breezed past her into the hallway, then stopped short. "Wow," he said, whistling long and low. "I thought you said Harry was going to clean the place up?"

She rolled her eyes. He bit back a smile. "Come on, we're in the sitting room." she said, motioning for him to follow her.

"Hold your water, I'm taking in the sights."

The hall was still as high-ceilinged and narrow as it had been before, but, other than that, bore no resemblance to the Grimmauld Place that he remembered. The walls had been stripped of the tattered, peeling wall covering, the plaster repaired and painted a dark red reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, the gas lamps polished and free of cobwebs. There were no disembodied house-elf heads to be seen, and the dusty, moth-eaten carpet was also missing.

"Where's Mrs. Black?" he asked in amazement, scrutinizing every inch of the expanse of wall where her portrait had hung, as if they'd just Spellotaped her mouth shut and painted over it.

"Hanging upstairs in Kreacher's room."

"How in the hell did you manage that? My mum spent an entire Saturday trying to prise the old bag off the wall."

"Well, I've done some research," Hermione said, sounding an awful lot like her eleven-year-old self, "and, whilst the references are rather vague, it seems as though, when the Fidelius Charm was broken and the Death Eaters came in, it broke most of the spells on the house as well."

"How?"

"Kreacher." she said simply, as if this explained everything.

"Again, how?"

"Apparently, just before Regulus Black was killed by the Inferi, he forbade Kreacher to tell anyone what had happened at the underground, to protect the family."

"Right." This was not new information.

"To shield them further, he used many protective spells on this house, including the Fidelius Charm. Kreacher was the Secret Keeper. And we all know house-elf magic is different than regular magic."

"Uh huh." This had the makings of being greatly complex.

"Well, to make a long story short--"

"And thank Godric for that."

"-- when Kreacher told us what had happened, _we _became Secret Keepers. Then, that Death Eater grabbed on to me as we Disapparated to Grimmauld Place, the charm broke, and so did the rest of the protective enchantments on the house. Including the Permanent Sticking Charm. Do you follow?"

"Not exactly, but it works for me." The he realized what she'd just said. "Wait, you mean to tell me that that portrait was supposed to help protect the house?"

"It certainly seems that way." Hermione nodded knowingly, her hands clasped behind her back as though she was she was giving a museum tour.

"What was she going to do if they got in, insultthem to death?"

"That we're not sure of. But Kreacher says she fought them hard, when they did come in. They didn't pay her any attention, though-- they were too focused on what else they could find in here." A bitter note had crept into her voice.

George looked back at the blank wall with something like affection, then finally let Hermione play hostess and lead him into the sitting room.

With the exception of two velvet wingchairs, a pile of cardboard boxes, and a large potted Flitterbloom, the room was devoid of furnishings. Harry was standing on an antediluvian-looking ladder, hanging curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He looked down when they entered. "Hi George. Thought you were Ron."

"Sorry to disappoint." he said, nodding approvingly at the robin-egg blue walls and bright white wainscoting, a far cry from the former rotting wood panelling and decomposing Persian carpet. "I got away from my, er, appointment earlier than expected, and--"

"That was today?" Hermione asked sharply, looking up from the floor where she was rummaging through a box that seemed to be full of cooking utensils.

"Yes, Mum, that was today." he replied, blowing the fringe out of his face in annoyance.

She took advantage of this slight. "Well, speaking of your mother, I assume that you haven't told her yet?"

"Are you daft? Of course I haven't told her; I happen to value my limbs and remaining ear."

"Maybe she'll be happy."

"Maybe monkeys will fly right out of my arse."

She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest. "George, you're going to have to tell her."

"No joke."

"And I mean soon, I'm sure--"

"Hermione, that's enough." Harry said lightly, climbing down off the ladder and lugging it over to the next window.

"But--"

"Let George alone for now, I'm sure he's already had a rough day."

George looked at Harry gratefully as a long ringing sound came from the hallway. "What the bloody hell's that?" he asked as Hermione jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.

"A doorbell." he replied, picking up another drapery rod and ascending the ladder once more.

"Just like a Muggle. How quaint."

"I try." He gave up trying to juggle the hammer and the hardware, and pulled his wand out of his pocket instead. "So, uh, how did everything go?"

He shrugged. "Who the hell knows. I still can't believe that I'm actually having--"

They were interrupted by a loud exclamation of delight, and a second later, Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, followed by Hermione. George's stomach rolled over as he realized he'd been very, very close to telling his mother about her impending grandchild.

"Harry! George!" she called, rushing over to George and pulling him into a forceful hug. "How are you, my love? I haven't seen you in so long!" she said, kissing both his cheeks and squeezing him tightly again.

"Fine, Mum, how are you?" he answered, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. Over Molly's shoulder, Hermione was nodding firmly and mouthing the words "tell her." He made a rude gesture behind his mother's back, forcing a smile as she stepped back to look at him at arm's length.

"You're getting terribly skinny, Georgie, what have you been eating?"

"Food, Mum. Just not as good as yours."

"Oh, you do flatter me." she said, but beamed up at him. "You need to come to dinner soon, love, it's been ages."

"I will, Mum." he agreed, if only to get her off his back. "Didn't Harry do a real corking job with the old place?" he asked, turning to face Harry with a large, winning grin, with Mrs. Weasley doing the same thing right next to him.

"Oh, it's simply splendid!" she sighed, clapping her hands together. "Really, Harry, what a marvellous job you've done. It's like a palace."

Harry, who had climbed down off the ladder, gave her a hug. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. But I've had a lot of help. And I still have much more to do."

She smiled at him. George was not surprised to see that her eyes had become abnormally shiny, which obviously meant she was welling up with tears. As if she did anything else these days.

"Sirius would be so proud." she said in a watery voice, squeezing Harry's hand.

"Do you think so?"

"I know so." she replied gently. George tried not to roll his eyes. Thankfully, the treacly moment was interrupted by the squeaking hinges of the front door, heavy footsteps, and Ron's voice.

"Oi, it's a party."

He slouched in the doorway of the sitting room, wearing his shop robes and a smile. George watched, almost impressed, as his mother and Hermione flocked to him, taking turns hugging and kissing him and inquiring about his day. He and Harry exchanged smirks, then returned to watching the witches fawning over Ron.

"How do you think an ugly git like Ronnie manages to do it?" George teased, as Hermione all but batted her eyelashes at Ron.

"_Twelve Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches_?"

"I think we may have figured it out."

Finally, Ron was able to shake off his mother by asking pointed questions about George's absence from the shop, which in turn provoked inquiries from Molly.

"Why, dear, you weren't at work today?" she asked, face clouded with concern as she turned to George.

"This morning I was, Mum." he replied, fighting back the urge to challenge his brother to a wizard duel in the hallway. "I had to leave for a business meeting around noon."

"Oh, I see. Is something exciting going on?"

He could practically feel Hermione's eyes boring holes into the side of his head. "Nothing I can comment on at the moment."

She nodded, smiled, and patted his hand. He returned the smile weakly-- nothing like a mother's blind affection to make him feel like the world's biggest sod. "Of course, love. Don't schedule any business meetings for Thursday evening, though. I'll expect you lot at home by five o'clock sharp."

"Thursday? What's Thursday?"

"Oh, didn't Ron tell you?" Molly asked, turning to face her other son, who hastily removed his hand from Hermione's back pocket.

"Sorry." he said guiltily. "Must've slipped my mind."

Hermione turned her steely gaze to Ron, before looking back at George with a much gentler expression. "Thursday is Teddy Lupin's first birthday." she explained. "Your mother's having a party for him at The Burrow."

"Andromeda shouldn't have to worry about putting a party together so soon." Mrs. Weasley said busily. "So Harry and I came up with a little something, didn't we, dear?" She smiled once again at Harry, who flushed.

"A little something." he repeated.

"Oh, you're turning into quite the homemaker these days." George ribbed him.

"Don't tease Harry, Georgie. Ginny told me that you put on quite a show at Christmas yourself."

It was the first time in memory that his mother had been able to show him up, and George didn't exactly relish the feeling, especially when he saw how the other three grinned at him. "Great." he grumbled.

"So you'll come, then?" Molly prompted, looking expectantly at him. "Perhaps even let Fleur cut your hair?

"No one's coming near my hair. But I'll come." he agreed grudgingly, and couldn't help but be pleased by the way her face lit up.

"Now all you're waiting on is a response from the harpy, eh?" Ron asked his mother.

"Don't call your sister a harpy." she said automatically. "And I got an owl from her today, Professor McGonagall has given her permission to return home for the party."

"Is Charlie coming?"

"No, he won't be able to make it on a weeknight, but they'll be visiting in a few weeks. Wedding plans, you know. But Bill and Fleur will be there, and Percy, and Ginny, and a few other people."

"Like who?" Ron prompted.

"Oh, just a few Order members, some of Andromeda's friends, you know." Molly replied breezily. "It'll be a small party-- just dinner and cake. We don't want to overload Teddy, poor thing's just a year old."

"Knowing you, Mum, there's going to be forty people and ice sculptures." Ron said, and George couldn't help but agree.

She just laughed, then checked her watch. "Well, loves, forgive me, but I have to go. I'm meeting your father for dinner." This was followed by a very girlish titter, and a round of hugs and kisses for all of them. "I'll see you on Thursday." She patted George's hand once again, then Harry, the picture of a gracious host, walked her out.

"Well," he said, coming back into the room, which was growing dim as the sun sank low behind a heavy mantle of clouds. "I don't imagine that it's going to be a very small anything-- she just told me she's planning on three separate main courses for dinner."

"No surprises there." Ron said, sinking theatrically into one of the wing chairs in the middle of the sitting room floor and pulling Hermione onto his lap. "If there's less a hundred pounds of food on the table, I'll eat a Flobberworm."

"What kind of an ante is that? No one wants to see you honk up all over the floor." George said derisively.

"Actually, I might." Harry offered. "Depends on the circumstances."

"I always knew you were odd." George checked his watch. "All right, well, enough family togetherness for one day. Lee's expecting me at The Hog's Head in an hour. Maybe he'll know what to buy for a one-year-old."

"I'm sure _your mother _would know all about _children_." Hermione said pointedly.

"Subtle. Very subtle." he replied, tipping an imaginary hat at each of them in turn and heading for the door. "See you tossbags later." And, with a light-heartedness he didn't actually feel, he started whistling off-key as he let himself out onto the dark street.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** What, you guys don't like cliffhanger endings? Haha. Anyway, wow, what a response. I certainly did not expect to get so many reviews, and did not anticipate causing such a ruckus with my cliffie ending.

I'm not going to defend my decision to end "Winter" where I did, I feel as the author it's my prerogative, but I'm pretty sure that I will be doing that again any time soon. Then I have all these sticky problems with "well, should I have just made it all one long story in four parts?" and so on and so forth and lots of wangst. But, assuming that there's people still reading, let's just keep on keeping on, shall we?

A few notes about "Spring". We'll spend some more time looking at how the wizarding world as a whole is recovering, Ron and George both have to make some tough choices, Percy still gets jerked around. Ultimately, this is a story about relationships of all kinds, and there will be plenty of that. More Ron/Hermione fluff, I'm sure, because I like writing that.

How did the explanation of Mrs. Black's portrait work for you? I knew what I was going for, and my husband said that it came together all right, but it's a sensitive point for me. Right along with cliffhanger endings, LOL.

Anyway, thank you all for your reviews of Winter, especially the last chapter. I appreciate the kind words and the constructive criticism, and even the person that called me a dude and wanted to know what the hell I was thinking. Keep 'em coming-- we've still got nine months to go!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was very glad to be standing alone in the scullery, away from the action. He was stuffing vol-au-vents by hand, and Mrs. Weasley had insisted that he wear an apron, a bright, flowered affair that covered him from neck to knees. It served its intended purpose but made him feel quite absurd in the process.

As expected, the plans for a "small party" had expanded by leaps and bounds to include place settings for twenty-five, dozens of blue and yellow balloons emblazoned with the number 1, four main courses, thirteen side dishes that included seven pounds of sprouts, twelve bottles of elf-made wine, four cases of butterbeer, two of pumpkin juice, and fifteen dozen hors d'oeuvres. Since he had walked through the door at ten to five, the Burrow kitchen had been working non-stop.

"Oh, there you are!" he heard Mrs. Weasley say loudly as the door opened. "Good. Go out and shut the chickens away, people will be coming soon!"

"But--" he heard George's voice protesting as the door closed once again.

Fleur breezed through the curtain that separated the kitchen from the narrow scullery, a ruffled toile apron over her dress and her hair pulled back in an elaborate chignon. Her hands were caked with what looked like bread crumbs, and there was a smudge of flour on her nose. On her, it looked charming.

"'arry, 'ow are you doing with zee canapés?" she asked, peering over his shoulder. "'ou are almost done, _oui_?" He heard a slightly panicked note in her voice.

"Yeah. Almost." he said, poking mushroom and cheese into the tiny hole cut in the top of the pastry. "How's it going out there?"

"Oh, eet will be close. Zee guests will be arriving very soon." she said, pulling a box of baker's yeast off the shelf next to him. "Let me know when 'ou are done, zere are a few more t'ings zat need to be done to zee table."

"All right." he agreed as she hurried back out into the kitchen proper. His supply of filling was almost exhausted, and there were only a few more shells left. He was just finishing the last one when someone moved into the room behind him once more.

He turned, expecting Fleur again, and felt his heart shudder as he found himself bare inches from Ginny. "Oh," he said, trying to sound relaxed, "hi. When did you get here?"

"Only just." she replied with an incredibly feeble attempt at a smile. "McGonagall didn't want me Apparating down here by myself, so I had to wait for her."

"McGonagall's here?"

"In the kitchen." she said, and then unexpectedly climbed up onto the countertop.

"Do you want me to get that?" he asked, watching as she straightened up cautiously and reached for a large stoneware platter on the topmost shelf. He tried not to think that he could have seen clear up her skirt from this angle, had he been so inclined.

"No thanks." she replied, taking hold of the dish. After a moment of indecision, she leaned over and braced her hand on his shoulder, looking less than thrilled as he put his hand on her waist and helped guide her down.

A glimmer of gold caught his eye as she landed lightly on the floor. "You're still wearing your necklace." he said, not even trying to disguise the incredulity in his voice.

Her hand pressed to her throat, where the rest of the Celtic knot necklace was presumably hidden beneath her blouse. The platter almost slipped from her grasp. "Oh. Yeah, I guess." She flushed as he looked at her in wonder. Then, without further comment, she turned and rushed out of the room.

Before he had the chance to get his thoughts together, Mrs. Weasley burst through the curtain and swept the appetizers onto a large tray, shouting directions over her shoulder all the while. She shooed him into the sitting room to put napkins at each place setting. He gladly shed the flowered apron and slipped through the crowded kitchen and into the relative quiet of the living room.

All of the regular furniture had been removed, and, in its place, three long tables had been pushed together in a T shape. Twenty-five mismatched chairs were set up around the tables, which were covered in heavy white cloths and set with enough plates and utensils for half a house table. Clouds of balloons hung in each corner of the room, and enchanted candles hovered near the ceiling and along the mantelpiece above the fireplace. A sizeable stack of wrapped gifts and a veritable army of beverage bottles sat on a narrow sideboard that was pushed against the far wall. There was barely room to move, but Harry travelled slowly around the tables, folding blue napkins into triangles on each plate.

"No ice sculptures, sadly."

He looked up. Ron stood just inside the doorway that separated the kitchen from the sitting room, looking supremely hassled as he shut the door behind him.

"Unfortunately. When did you get here?"

"I've been. George and I left Verity to close up and came over right at five. Mum's had me wrapping gifts up in Percy's old room ever since."

"You mean there's more?" he asked, shooting a glance at the already significant pile on the table. It reminded him of Dudley's birthdays.

"Yeah, mate, you'd think this kid--"

"Ron!" The door opened and Mrs. Weasley appeared over his shoulder, dishtowels slung over each shoulder for reasons that were not readily apparent to Harry. "Ron, one of the cats sicked up on the back steps. Could you clean it, please?"

Ron turned from his mother to Harry, a look of affronted disbelief on his face. He looked back at his mother, who smiled sweetly and flicked one of her dishtowels at him. "Thank you, love. Hurry now, before the guests start to arrive."

Harry was left smiling to himself as Ron drifted back through the door after Mrs. Weasley, presumably to mop up cat vomit. He was creasing a napkin into something that greatly resembled a bicorne hat when a methodical knock at the front door interrupted him. Momentarily confused, as most visitors to The Burrow came through the stable door in the kitchen, he realized that it must be a stray party guest. He dodged furniture on the way to the door, finally swinging it open.

The woman that stood on the other side of the door was half hidden beneath a hooded cloak. Despite this, he instantly recognized the fair blonde hair and even paler face. The woman that stood in front of him was Narcissa Malfoy. Harry blinked repeatedly, certain that this must be some sort of hallucination.

She pushed back the hood and looked evenly at him, finally saying, in a surprisingly quiet voice, "Have I arrived too early?"

"Ear-early?" he stammered.

She looked at him enquiringly. "For the party?"

"I… no." he answered, remembering now that, as Mrs. Tonks' sister, she must have been invited. But surely Mrs. Weasley would have mentioned that?

When he made no move to step back and admit her into The Burrow, she drew herself up to her full height and asked, "May I come in?"

Wordlessly, he stepped back, watching with astonishment as Malfoy's mother stepped into the sitting room. Now he noticed that she held something in her hand, a small wrapped gift that he realized must be for Teddy. He looked from it back up to her face, which was not as he remembered. It was fuller now, less sharp angles and no deep shadows beneath the eyes. Her expression was strange, impassive, but she didn't wear the same sneer that characterized her son's features.

Behind him, the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Weasley bustled in with an enormous plate of cocktail snacks.

"Did I hear the-- oh!" She stopped short, looking surprised to see the blonde woman in her living room. Harry felt an odd sort of vertigo as she continued. "Well, I suppose I did hear the door. Welcome. I'm so… pleased that you could make it. Harry, could you take Mrs. Malfoy's wrap?"

"Sure." he croaked, still rooted to the spot with his hand on the doorknob. Narcissa unfastened her cloak and handed it to Harry, who had finally regained enough sense to charge out of the sitting room with it, leaving the two witches in awkward silence.

The kitchen was even more swarming than when he'd gone through the first time. Fleur was glazing a mammoth side of pork while Ginny stirred a pot of gravy at the oven beside her. Hermione was frosting a large cake while, oddly enough, Professor McGonagall was standing with Bill in the corner of the room, helping him fill stacks of glasses with wine. The back door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Percy, George and Ron trouped inside.

"Where should I put this?" Harry asked, holding the cloak away from his body as though it smelled bad.

"Oh, has someone shown up?" Bill looked up. "You can put it up on the bed in my old room, there'll be a whole lot before the night's out."

"Oi, who used the front door?" Ron asked with vague interest, leaning across the worktop and taking a long pull from the wine bottle while no one else was looking.

"Narcissa Malfoy."

All action in the room ceased for a second, everyone turning to him and looking astonished. A lump of gravy fell from Ginny's spoon, landing thickly on the cook top. Dark red wine spilled from the bottle Ron held in the vicinity of his open mouth and down the front of his jumper.

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley came back into the kitchen, smiling peculiarly. "Bill, dear, can you bring Mrs. Malfoy a glass of wine?" she asked. "And Ron, what have you done to yourself? Go change, love, the guests are already starting to arrive."

"Wow, Mum, you didn't mention you'd be inviting a contingent of Death--"

"Stow it, Ron." Bill said, shooting his brother a significant look as he took a full glass of wine and headed for the sitting room.

Soon, the Burrow was stuffed to the gills with people. Almost every seat in the sitting room was full, and Harry was pleased to see many people he hadn't spoken to in a long while. Mrs. Figg had come, and Harry took great pleasure in hearing her story about the new set of golf clubs Uncle Vernon had acquired over Christmas, and his penchant for taking putting practice in the front yard. He had done so much damage to the grass, she said with a very demonstrative laugh, he'd been forced to trim it to an absurdly short length.

Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle were there as well, and were able to appreciate the idea of Uncle Vernon knocking clods out of earth out of his own lawn almost as much as Harry was. Sturgis Podmore, whom Harry had not seen since arriving at Grimmauld Place that first night, was there as well, though he did not speak much, except to Professor McGonagall. The Delacours and Gabrielle were also present, and were currently carrying on a conversation with Fleur and Bill, all in rapid-fire French.

Harry took care not to say too much to Elphias Doge, who looked even older and rheumier than he had at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He looked especially out of place sitting next to Narcissa Malfoy, who was silently observing the goings-on with a slightly haughty expression on her face. She seemed especially interested in watching Ron and Hermione, who were laughing with Mr. Weasley and Percy. Hagrid and George were deep in conversation, bursting into loud, raucous laughter from time to time. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley drifted back and forth from the table to the kitchen, checking on dinner and refilling drinks.

He was just settling into his seat between Hagrid and Ron when Andromeda and Teddy arrived, to much applause. Teddy, who had at first looked startled by all of the noise and the people, soon warmed to the idea of a party. He allowed himself to be passed around and exclaimed over, finally coming to a rest in an empty seat at the head of the table, surrounded by gifts and balloons, which he batted at with delight.

The room went still as Andromeda and Narcissa embraced awkwardly. It was the first time that Harry had seen them together, and noticed with surprise that they rather resembled each other, though their colouring was very different.

"It's so nice to have you here to celebrate with us." Andromeda said kindly.

"Thank you. It's very kind of you to have me." Narcissa replied, looking not at her sister but out at the sitting room as though waving a white flag above her head.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Mrs. Weasley jumped to her feet and proclaimed dinner to be ready, though the trays of hors d'oeuvres were still half-full. In the chaos that followed, of flying roast and hovering dishes of mash and Mrs. Weasley directing at all with her wand like some crazed Muggle air-traffic controller, Harry noticed that Andromeda took her place next to Teddy at the head of the table and looked pleased. Meanwhile, Mrs. Malfoy settled back into her seat between Elphias Doge and Monsieur Delacour, and Harry swore that she looked as though she may cry. Before he could be certain, though, she turned her head so that her long blonde hair obscured her face.

A few minutes later, when dishes and bowls full of food were perched on every available surface and everyone's glasses were full, Mrs. Weasley finally sat back down. She raised her own wine glass towards Teddy, who was gleefully gnawing on the end of a spoon. Then she announced that, before they began, would everyone please be still a moment while Harry gave a toast?

"_Me_?" Harry said, dismayed. This hadn't been discussed.

"Yes, dear. You're his godfather." Mrs. Weasley replied, with the kind of motherly smile she turned on her children when she asked them to do something unpleasant. All eyes were on him now, and he felt like a great prat as he climbed to his feet. Ron and George both smirked up at him, and he would have been wholly blissful if the floor had opened up and swallowed him up.

"Boy Who Lived!" Ron jeered in the silence, and Hermione cut him off with a scowl and a swift elbow to the ribs.

Harry ignored Ron and turned to face the blue-haired baby at the head of the table, who was now sitting on Mrs. Tonks' lap and stretching his wet fingers towards a basket of bread well beyond his grasp. He cleared his throat and tried to think how best to toast a one-year-old.

"Uh, thank you all for coming tonight, to celebrate Teddy's birthday." he said lamely, feeling his cheeks burn. A slow, sarcastic clap came from George's direction, and was swiftly quelled by a sharp look from Mrs. Weasley. "Well, um, it's very… nice that he has so many people that care about him." Mrs. Tonks caught his eye, and she nodded. He took a breath. "We all know what's happened in the first twelve months of Teddy's life; there isn't a need to mention it again on an occasion like this. But there's something to be said for family and friends, and everyone here fits into one of those categories. So let's take tonight to wish him well on his journey through life. Happy birthday, Teddy, and many more."

"Teddy!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly, and everyone else joined in. "Teddy!"

Teddy looked up at the sound of his name and grinned, showing off the four teeth in the front of his mouth. Harry couldn't help but smile as well as he sipped his butterbeer. His godson was indeed a loveable child.

"Oi, where do you _get _this stuff?" Ron whispered as Harry sat back down.

"Oh, don't listen to him, Harry, that was very nice." Hermione said, shooting Ron an exasperated look.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry grumbled good-naturedly, dishing himself up a very large serving of roasted sweet potatoes.

"'twas a very nice speech, Harry. Can you pass me summat?" Hagrid asked, leaning over and pointing one generously proportioned finger towards a plate of sausage. Harry obliged.

Dinner passed uneventfully amidst the sounds of six or seven different conversations. Hagrid was keen to talk about Hogwarts and the rebuilding process, especially since being made Head of Gryffindor house. Harry tried valiantly to focus on his jovial, rambling descriptions of wall fortification and re-planting grass and expanding the Care of Magical Creatures to include guest lessons from Grawp, but found himself sneaking glances down the table at Ginny. She was sitting between Percy and Mr .Weasley and seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, scowling down at her plate and sawing her food apart with more force than was necessary.

Eventually Hagrid noticed. "Oi, Harry, what d'ya keep…. Oh." he said, following his gaze. "I see." He winked knowingly. "I getcha."

Later on, when most of the food was gone and the wine was flowing freely, Harry saw his opportunity. "Everything all right?" he asked, grabbing an empty dish and following Ginny into the kitchen as she carried what remained of the roast chicken from the table.

She shot him a murderous look. "Fine."

"Right. What's wrong?"

"And why do _you _care all of a sudden?"

"What does that mean? You're my friend."

This was apparently not the right thing to say. She slammed the dish into the sink with a crash. Soapy water flew all over the worktop and the window overlooking the garden.

"Whoa, careful." said a voice behind them. Bill was balancing a stack of plates in his hands as he entered the kitchen. Ginny glared at both of them, then marched out the back door. After a moment's indecision, Harry followed.

The night was chilly and very dark, the night sky shrouded in clouds. He hurried down the steps and out into the garden, where Ginny was a pale blur in the dark, standing with her back to him. He came to a stop just behind her.

"What's gotten into you?"

She laughed bitterly. "Right, well, seeing as how we're _friends_, I guess I should just tell you all of my problems, right?"

"You can if you want."

"Oh, terrific. I have all the friends I need, but thanks anyway."

It took a valiant effort to keep the anger out of his voice, but it still crept up a few decibels. "Why are you acting like this?" For a half a second, he paused, then said the words that had been on the tip of his tongue since that day in the Gryffindor locker room. "It wasn't my idea to break up, you know."

She spun around so fast that he shielded his face with his hands in self-defence. "It might not have been your idea, but you certainly wasted no time moving on!"

"What do you mean?"

"Katie!" she spat.

He shook his head. "How is that any different than whats-his-name… Ritchie?"

"Ritchie? Ritchie Coote? Are you _mental_?" she snapped, sounding extraordinarily like Ron. "You know what, forget it, I don't need this right now. Just leave me alone, Harry. Just…." Instead of finishing her sentence, she turned her back on him and headed for the house. He watched, trounced, as she stomped up the stairs and into The Burrow, almost knocking Bill over in the process.

The eldest Weasley brother came down into the garden and made his way slowly over to where Harry stood, hands in his pockets. "Okay?' he asked mildly.

"Great." he answered acrimoniously, pushing his glasses furiously up his nose and staring daggers at the place she had last been.

"I believe that." Bill answered, a smile in his tone.

"Why do they have to be like that?"

"You mean women?"

"Yeah. And barking mad."

He chuckled. "The nature of the beast, I suppose."

"Does it get any easier?"

"Nope. Gets harder, in fact."

Harry looked over a Bill. "You're joking."

"Of course I'm not. You know my mum."

He considered. This was true. "So what do I do?"

Bill shrugged. "What can you do? As I told Ron, who was ready to fly up to Hogwarts and give Ginny a right thumping when you two broke off, if it's meant to happen, it will."

"I hate answers like that." Harry said, finding himself reminded of Dumbledore.

"I know, I know. Master of your own fate." Bill said, the humour all but gone from his voice. "But some things you can't control, no matter how hard you fight. And unfortunately, that includes my sister."

Without meaning to, Harry sighed heavily. He thought he'd had it all figured out, had seen all the lines drawn in the dirt. But it seemed now to be unravelling, even as he tried to create some semblance of order.

After a minute or two, Bill rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've been through a lot, Harry, especially in the past few years. But you're still young. Take some time to enjoy that. Godric knows you deserve it."

"Thanks." he said, but even in his own ears he sounded miserable.

"I'd sleep very well at night if Ginny Weasley became Ginny Potter. Give her some time. I think she might come around."

"Thanks." he said again, but meant it.

"Any time." A crow called in the distance, and they both turned to look. Once it was quiet again, Bill continued. "So, Faustina Preston tells me that you're doing very well."

"You talk to Auror Preston?"

He nodded. "Sometimes. I saw her at Gringotts last week, that's when she told me that she's quite pleased with your work."

"That's surprising. She doesn't usually say anything to me." _Other than swearing loudly when I'm not paying attention_, he thought to himself.

"Do you like her?"

"She's… tough."

He grinned. "Always was, even at school."

"I do like her though. She's very fair."

"Good, good. You're learning from the best."

Something about this reminded Harry of what she had told him on that day they went out to Dartmoor, when they had been sitting in her office. "Did you know that her father was an Auror before her?"

His nod was barely visible in the darkness. "Yes. He had to retire after he was blinded in the line of duty."

"She said it happened when a group of Death Eaters kidnapped her mother."

"I remember that. Dad thought that, afterwards, Mr. Preston would pack them up and leave England altogether, but he didn't. She started Hogwarts that September, a year ahead of me."

"You knew her at school?"

"More by reputation than by name, but she played Quidditch for a few years back when I did, and was a prefect when I was."

"Was she a Gryffindor?"

"No. Slytherin."

"Slytherin?!"

"Does that surprise you?"

"A bit."

He smiled. "Determined, clever, ruthless… aren't these all words you'd use to describe Faustina Preston?"

"And then some."

"Dad always thought that perhaps that's why the Death Eaters were out for the family, because of the Slytherin connection, but personally I don't buy it. There's hundreds of 'em that didn't become Death Eaters. No, I think it was something else."

"Out for the family? What do you mean?"

"Well, besides what happened to her mother and father, they killed that Muggle she was going to marry, Harold or Henry or something."

Harry remembered the picture in her office, of the handsome man with mirrored sunglasses and dark hair. What was it she had said? _Death Eaters killed him and a group of Muggles while they were in Wales, working on a bridge in the mountains. I was on assignment in Turkey at the time_. "I thought that… I didn't know it had anything to do with her."

"Well, no one knows for sure. The official word was that they were targeted because they were Muggles, but the fact that it was Preston's fiancé didn't go unnoticed. Didn't you ever wonder why you never saw her around the Ministry before?"

Harry thought of this. He had never heard of her before Kingsley had introduced her to the class, yet she had years of experience as an Auror. "Now that you mention it, you're right."

Bill nodded. "She was always chasing Dark wizards through Tunisia or Amsterdam or Peru, or something like that. Very rarely did she work here at home. When the Ministry fell, she went into hiding in Italy, probably the only reason she wasn't killed. But she still managed to help the Order out a few times."

"I didn't know." he said slowly. There was something twitching in the back of his mind, something he couldn't place. Before he could dwell too much on it, though, the Burrow door opened and a figure was momentarily silhouetted in the light from the kitchen.

Ron closed the door and hurried and rubbed his hands briskly. "I was wondering where you two sods had gotten to. What are you doing out here?"

"Eh, talking shop." Bill said. "Auror stuff. What's my wife up to?"

"Fussing all over Teddy, just like all the other women. He passed out asleep on the table, but not before he spilled ice cream on Malfoy's mum." He snorted. "Clever little tot, isn't he, gumming up the enemy."

"Mum invited her, you know." Bill said.

"And what's that about? She could have at least mentioned it to us beforehand, Harry just about had a heart attack when he opened the door, I bet, having her skulking around on the doorstep."

He shrugged. "Andromeda says she's changed."

"Yeah, well, Hagrid says Dung's changed, but that doesn't mean I trust him."

Harry pictured the bleary-eyed, stringy-haired form of Mundungus Fletcher. He didn't think it would ever be possible to trust someone like him, no matter how many rumours of reformation reached his ears.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "You'd think Mum would be awkward about it, too. I mean, it was 'cause of her that her nutter of a sister popped her clogs."

"Bellatrix was Andromeda's sister as well."

"But they didn't go about together, did they? You didn't see Andromeda hanging out at Malfoy Manor when they had us _locked in the cellar_." An edge had crept into his voice, and Harry felt a shiver in his spine at the words. That had seemed like a very long time ago.

No one spoke for a long moment. Bill eventually broke the silence. "These are strange times."

"No kidding." Ron grunted.

"It'll be interesting to see what happens." He shook his head. "Anyway, let me go tear my wife away from the festivities. I have to go to Cairo tomorrow, early." Bill said, and Harry and Ron followed him back inside.

The party was now split between two rooms. In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley, Hestia Jones, Professor McGonagall and Andromeda Tonks were all standing at the sideboard with glasses of wine, laughing about something. Narcissa Malfoy stood a few paces away, sipping at her own glass with a hint of a smile on her face. Over on the other side of the kitchen, Mr. Weasley was showing something that looked an awful lot like a surge protector to Percy and Monsieur Delacour, who both wore polite smiles of feigned interest. He waved as they passed through and went into the other room.

"Well," Bill said, stopping short just inside the doorway, "There's something I thought I'd never see."

Ron and Harry looked around him. Sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by females, was George, holding a sleeping Teddy Lupin securely in his arms. Hermione sat next to him, her hand on George's shoulder and a rather smug smile on her face. They watched, amused, as the blue-haired baby shifted in George's grasp, yawned, and was still again. At the other end of the table, Hagrid, Dedalus Diggle and Sturgis Podmore were playing a very quiet card game in deference to the sleeping infant.

"All right, all right." George said quietly, looking down at Teddy with an indecipherable expression on his face. "My arm's starting to go numb, someone else can hold him now."

"Oh, I will take 'im!" Fleur said, gazing rapturously down at the baby. She eased him out of George's arms and into her own and, like a reflex, began cooing at him in soft French. At her elbow, Gabrielle beamed down at Teddy, who seemed oblivious to the hand-off.

"He didn't even get the chance to open his gifts."

Harry looked up. Andromeda Tonks had come in behind them and was smiling fondly at the little boy in Fleur's arms. She looked very relaxed, perhaps even happy. It had been a long time since he'd seen her look anything but haunted. It pleased him to see her so calm, but in a bittersweet way. Were they all forgetting?

"Do you think he had a good time?" he asked, pushing the other thoughts out of his head.

"Oh, yes, I think he had a marvellous time. He loves to be around people." She turned to Harry. "Thank you for this. It really was wonderful."

"I didn't do much, it was mostly Mrs. Weasley's doing."

She smiled. "While this does have Molly written all over it-- especially the overabundance of food-- she told me that you had a fair hand in it as well. And we thank you."

"You're welcome. If I'm going to be his godfather, I ought to be a good one."

"And you are."

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at Andromeda's side, her travelling cloak laying over her arm. "Thank you for having me, sister, but I should be going home now." she said quietly.

"Of course." Andromeda replied, folding her into a tight embrace. "Thank you so much for coming. Your presence means so much to Teddy and I. I'm sure it must have been difficult for you."

"My comfort means little when compared to family." She focused her blue eyes on Harry. "Have a good evening, Mr. Potter."

"And you too, Mrs. Malfoy." he replied, surprised. He watched as Mrs. Tonks walked her to the front door.

Ron made a low retching sound on his other side as Narcissa Malfoy slipped out the front door of the Burrow. "'Have a good evening, Mr. Potter.'" he mimicked in a self-aggrandizing, over-enunciated accent. "What the bloody hell is going on in that woman's head, do you imagine?"

"Quite a lot, I expect."

They both looked up. Hermione had vacated her seat next to George and was now approaching them. "And keep your voice down, Ron, I can hear you across the room."

"Oh, look who finally decided to join us." he said, ignoring her admonishment. "What did you have to threaten my brother with to make him hold that baby?"

A blush crept into her cheeks, but she smiled in a self-satisfied way. "I told him I'd go into the kitchen right now and tell your mother."

"And he believed you?" Harry asked.

"I don't know if he believed me so much as he wasn't fully convinced that I wouldn't. Anyway, what of it? He needs the practice."

The party was beginning to break up, and they couldn't really carry on much of a conversation due to all the good-byes. First, Bill and Fleur left, after he was able to prise her away from Teddy. Then Sturgis Podmore left, followed soon after by Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge. Mrs. Figg and Hestia Jones left together, and then the Delacours. Mrs. Tonks and Teddy were next, after Mrs. Weasley and Hermione had packed all of Teddy's unopened gifts into a small flour sack. It made a sound like tumbling rocks when Andromeda tucked it under her free arm.

Harry had every intention of staying to help clean up, but Mrs. Weasley came after him with a dish cloth. "Please, Harry," she said, pulling a pair of dirty glasses from his hands. "Go home now, dear, you have to be at work in the morning."

"So do I!" George protested from the corner of the room, where he was standing on a chair and unfastening balloons from the ceiling.

"I know you do, George." Mrs. Weasley said over her shoulder. "But you didn't set the table for twenty-five and then stuff sixty vol-au-vents by hand."

He turned back to the balloons, muttering under his breath. Mrs. Weasley faced Harry once again with a smile. "We can handle it from here, dear. Thank you for everything." She pulled him into a tight, motherly hug, the wineglasses clinking together in protest near his ear. "Go home and relax."

After his own round of good-byes, in which Ginny had completely ignored him, Hagrid had gotten teary, and McGonagall had shaken his hand crisply and asked if he'd like for her to owl him a N.E.W.T. study guide, Harry was Apparating back to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. He was tired, and looking forward immensely to climbing into his bed and falling deeply asleep. Instead, when he appeared outside his front door, he tripped over a blonde figure who was sitting on the steps in the cold, turning the pages of a magazine with her gloved fingers.

"Hi, Harry." Katie said brightly. "Hope you don't mind that I stopped by. I was in the area, and wanted to finally see the house."

"Of course not." he said, groaning inwardly, then touched his wand to the silver serpent in the middle of the door and pushing it open. "After you."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Had some trouble with this chapter, even though I'd been looking forward to writing it and it went through a few revisions. Hagrid is really difficult to write, I had to take out a bunch of paragraphs out of the dinner part because it sounded ridiculous. The rest of it didn't come together exactly how I wanted it, but I can't pinpoint exactly what doesn't please me. Uhhh... happy belated birthday, America.

Anyway, next week is a Ron chapter, which I'm looking forward to. He's fun to write.

Thank you all for your great response to Spring thus far, I do hope you continue to enjoy it. When I checked my email on Monday to find 47 favorites and alerts and reviews, I was totally blown away. Special thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter: AnkokuSama, Strawberry-Swirls, cinroc, Gray Eyes Beauty, Hyperlily, snaplappl21, crystalight22, smushly, WaffleNinja and Jasperella.


	3. Chapter 3

Under other circumstances, he might have considered her attractive. However, he and the grey-eyed witch with the pleasingly proportionate figure had reached a deadlock.

"If you'd just take my name--" he said through gritted teeth, before she interrupted yet again.

"_Sir_," she said, in a tone of voice that made it sound like an insult, "I don't think you understand. You are in the _Minister for Magic_'s office. You don't just totter in off your broom and have an appointment--"

"Well, I'd like to make one, then. For about a minute from now." he said, leaning over to try and get a look at the appointment ledger laying open on her pristine yellow desk blotter.

She snapped it shut. "The Minister is not here right now. Furthermore, he doesn't have any appointments available for some time--"

"That's pants! I--"

"Sir!" She rose to her feet, voice climbing higher as well. "Sir, I'm going to have to insist you leave now, or else I'm going to have to call for--"

The handsome mahogany door beyond her desk opened, and a towering figure in long blue robes emerged. A large smile appeared on his face. "Ron. Welcome. Are you here to see me?"

"Hi, Kingsley. I was just trying to set up an appointment with you, but I was informed you have nothing available." He jerked his thumb towards the grey-eyed witch in the Ministry-issue robes.

"I've always got time for you. Come in." He fixed the witch with a imperturbable look. "Octavia, tell my twelve o'clock that I'm in with Mr. Weasley."

The change in the witch's expression was instantaneous. She turned from Kingsley to Ron, her slender eyebrows raised almost into her hair and her painted lips parted in surprise. "_You're _Ron Weasley?" she asked, pressing a hand to her ample chest. "You looked so much older in the _Daily Prophet_!Why everdidn't you tell me your name?"

"I tried to. Several times." he said, stepping into the comfortable inner office behind Kingsley. As the Minister shut the door, he fought back the urge to stick his tongue out at the secretary, settling instead for a smug smile.

"I apologize for that. Octavia is very… enthusiastic." Kingsley said, motioning Ron towards on of the angular wooden chairs in front of his mammoth desk. The blinds were up, showcasing a beautiful sunset in deep pinks and golds, despite the overcast Monday morning that dwelled on the street ten levels up. "Can I offer you something? Pumpkin juice?"

"Spiffing."

Kingsley reached into a cabinet behind his desk and came back with two tall glasses of pumpkin juice, one of which he slid across the desk.

"Thanks." Ron said, taking a tentative sip. "Hey, it's cold, too. Not exactly slumming it up here, are you."

"The position is not without it's merits. How have you been?" He settled back in his chair, propping his large feet upon the affably cluttered surface of the desk.

"Not bad. You?"

"I've been well, thank you. How is your family?"

"The usual. Charlie's getting married."

"Arthur told me. I'm waiting for my invitation." He tented his fingers in front of his face. "I'm sorry I missed Teddy Lupin's birthday. Molly was kind enough to invite me, but I was away on Ministry business."

"Rotten, that. We had enough food for you as well as an entire security detail."

"That I don't doubt for a second."

"Yeah, you know mum."

Kingsley nodded, and Ron felt suddenly reticent beneath his steady gaze. "I do indeed. Now, Ron, I'm always glad to see you, but this isn't a simple social call. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

He swallowed, nodded resolutely. "All right. Well, I've been thinking a lot about that night. You know, at Hogwarts. When Harry, Neville and I helped round up the Death Eaters that hadn't been killed."

"I remember very well. I asked you repeatedly if you wanted to stay with your family, bearing in mind your brother's death. But you were determined. As I recall, it was you who chased Amycus Carrow through the Forbidden Forest and brought him back to the castle."

Solely for something to do, he took a long sip of his pumpkin juice. "Mum didn't understand why I wanted to do it, especially since George and Lee had already gotten Rookwood. I… I can't really explain why, either, but it was… important to me."

"Yes. Yes, I could tell."

Ron had hoped that Kingsley would make a logical leap and suggest-- better yet, _insist_-- that he become an Auror, but he just studied him placidly across the desk. No, it was up to him to take the step. "Oh, well, um, I've been wondering… what would you think about me becoming an Auror?"

Kingsley did not answer for a long while, and Ron felt his face grow hot as the seconds ticked by. Finally, the bald head nodded slowly. "I think that it might suit you. Why, is keeping shop not dangerous enough for you?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

"Working for George is plenty dangerous enough, 'specially these days. I like it all right, makes good money and the hours aren't terrible, but that's what the twins wanted. That's what they're good at. Was, I guess, in Fred's case."

"What about you, aren't you good at it?"

"Not like George is. He really _gets _it, ya know? The stuff he comes up with almost always sells, plus he likes marketing it and making adverts and all that."

"And you don't."

"It doesn't interest me. I never really wanted to work in Diagon Alley, I just… well, after, ya know, Fred died, I just…" He sighed, trying to sift through the words. It seemed important, then, to tell him. "I didn't want George to be alone. I wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Now he's doing well?"

"Not good, but better. Almost a year of sleeping on his sofa and seeing him every day, it's been, and I know he hasn't gotten over it-- hell, none of us have, I still think about him all the time-- but he's.… He has Verity, and he sees his friends again sometimes, and I… oh, hell, I want to marry Hermione, soon, and now that George has his own stuff going on, I think I can start doing a bit of growing up myself."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the plush office suddenly seemed very large. Again, Kingsley did not answer immediately, and Ron focused very hard on the ornate hanging behind his desk, inadvertently committing the Ministry's motto, _Veneficus Nitor, _to memory.

"Yes. I see what you mean." He shifted in his chair, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward. "Professor McGonagall has told me that you will be among the students taking N.E.W.T.s this May."

"That's right."

"And have you informed your brother of your decision yet?"

"Whoa, whoa, I haven't made a decision yet."

"You certainly sound decided to me."

"Well, yeah, I'm pretty sure, but I don't even know if you'll take me on. That's why I'm here."

"You know that Dawlish is head of the Auror Department now."

"Oh." He could tell a brush-off when he heard one. "Right."

"But I daresay that the Minister for Magic might have some pull in the matter." Kingsley continued, another ghost of a smile on his face. "Yes, Ron, I think that you would make a fine Auror. And if it's what you want to do, you will have my full support."

His stomach lurched in excitement, and he was suddenly aware that he was grinning so wide that his cheeks were hurting. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Now, though, we have some work to do." He took up a fancy tan and gold quill and began to write on a blank sheet of parchment. "You'll have to sit for your N.E.W.T.s-- Harry was admitted into the program before getting his, but--"

"But he's the Boy Who Lived, I get it." He was too elated to find fault with this.

"Well, yes." He paused, quill in the air, and then began to write again. "The new class won't begin until August, but I will speak with Dawlish and Faustina Preston, perhaps they'll allow you to sit in a few sessions with the current group. You'll have to meet with both of them as well, as the application deadline for the new class has passed, but I'm sure an exception can be made. Here is a list of recommended reading for you." Kingsley slid the parchment, covered with his small, blocky script, across the desk into Ron's hands. "And finally, you have to tell your family, specifically George."

"We've talked about it."

"No, I mean, you have to tell him, in no ambiguous terms, that you are leaving his employ at the end of the summer."

"I'll get around to it."

"I meant soon. Very soon. August isn't as far off as you think, as if he relies on you as much as I expect he does, he'll need time to find a suitable replacement."

Ron considered his brother's recent temperament and sighed. "All right, but I'm still going to wait a bit. He's got some... things to deal with."

Kingsley's left eyebrow raised just slightly. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"There's something I'd like to tell several people, but George'd end me. He'd slit my throat the Muggle way if I told anyone, and I mean it." He got up from the chair and stuck his hand out. "Anyway, thanks a lot, Kingsley."

"My pleasure." he replied, standing up and shaking Ron's hand firmly across the desk. "Expect an owl from me within the week. And give my regards to your family."

"Sure. See you later."

He exited the office, pleased to see both the grey-eyed witch and the large-set wizard with the fussy little moustache stealing glances at the clock as he passed. It was quarter past. He turned into the hallway and headed for the lifts, past many empty desks and cubicles of employees on lunch break.

The atrium was crowded, and he scanned the faces eagerly for Hermione before remembering that she was sitting in on hearings all day and very likely would not be breaking for lunch until mid-afternoon, If at all. As she repeatedly reminded him, there was a backlog of cases dating back to before the infiltration of the Ministry, and "justice is much better late than never."

As he was crossing the highly polished floor, someone jostled him. "Watch where you're walking, you gangling ginger oaf." the person grunted.

Ron spun around quickly, ready to lay into whoever it was, and found himself looking down into the smiling face of Parvati Patil. "Oh… was that you?"

"Yeah, not bad, huh?"

"Er… no." He looked up and saw Harry and a tall, weedy boy standing by the fountain, laughing. "Yeah, yeah, you got me, good job." he said, following Parvati to where they stood.

"My idea." Harry said with a nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Just saw Kingsley."

"Oh? Everything all right?"

"Fine, fine. What are you doing down here?"

"Waiting for Entwhistle to get back with the take-away." Parvati said, craning her neck and looking around. "He's taking his time."

"Want to join us?" Harry asked. "Assuming he ever gets back, of course."

"No, that's all right." he replied, exchanging a friendly nod with the weedy fellow. "Ron Weasley." he said, sticking out his hand. It was a shaking-hands kind of day, especially if Weeds was going to be a fellow Auror.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Andrew Kirke." They shook hands.

"Oh, of the pissing blood incident?" he asked conversationally.

"That's me." he replied, looking only mildly embarrassed.

"Yeah, Ron still harbours a desire to be an Auror, even after I told him about that." Harry said. This seemed to amuse Parvati.

"Really, Ron, you want to be an Auror?"

"Yeah." he said, bristling a bit at the titter in her voice. "Why d'you say it like that?"

"Because it only took you a hundred years to realize! Now all we need to do is to convince Neville."

"Longbottom? What, you think he ought to be an Auror?" Ron asked, attempting to picture Neville in one of his wands-drawn and hexing-down-doors daydreams. It took a few false starts, and, try as he might, he couldn't see Neville without the pockets of his robes overflowing with vegetation, though he did carry Gryffindor's sword as well as his wand.

"Of course." she said, as though his scepticism was idiotic. "Ginny too." She quickly averted her eyes from Harry.

"Neville and Ginny. Right." Ron said with a laugh.

"No, I'm serious."

He was about to make a sarcastic comment, but changed his mind at the last second. "You really think I'd make a good Auror?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I do. Why, you don't?"

"No, I… well, I mean, I hope I'd be good, but…." he trailed off, looking at Harry for assistance. He just shrugged.

"Actually, I'm surprised that you didn't join us this year." she said, waving across the floor to a broad-shouldered blond with a brown paper sack in each arm. "Food's here!"

A few minutes later, he was on the street, approaching The Leaky Cauldron. He was about to turn into the alley beside it, but instead entered through the front door. It was his day off, after all, and there was no guarantee that there was actually anything edible back at the flat. As usual, the place was crowded, but that was fine with him.

"Hi, Ron." said the witch behind the bar as he took a seat.

"Hi, Hannah."

"What can I get you?"

"How's the steak and kidney pie today?"

She smiled as she reached behind the counter, popped the cap on a bottle of butterbeer, and set it down in front of him. "How's the steak and kidney pie every day?"

"True. I think I'll go with that."

"I'll have that up for you in a few minutes." she said with a wink as a gnarled old warlock in moth-eaten tweed breeches flagged her down from the other end of the bar.

He brought the butterbeer to his mouth and drank, studying the ranks of dusty bottles that stood behind the bar. The last (and, he was pretty sure, first) time he'd actually seen any of them being used was at Christmas, when Seamus and Dean had nearly driven Tom mad ordering a large assortment of Muggle drinks. He smiled at the memory of the toothless old bartender muttering angrily to himself as he read off an ancient pamphlet, concocting drinks with stupid names like Psycho Tsunami, and setting them down in front of Dean and Seamus with a look that was perfectly clear in its' meaning-- that no tip they could leave would be good enough.

As he drank, he felt as though someone was staring at him. When a minute or two had passed and the feeling was still there, he turned, surveying the large dining room with a furrowed brow. No one seemed to be paying attention to him at all. Bemused, he turned back to the bar.

Hannah appeared a few moments later and placed a large plate brimming with food down in front of him. "Thanks." he said, surveying it with relish.

"You're welcome." she said, pulling a napkin-wrapped parcel of silverware from her apron pocket and sliding it across the bar to him. "How've you been?"

"Fine." he said around a mouthful of pie. "You?"

"Fine." she replied, leaning forward and resting her head in her hand. "Your brother was in here earlier."

"Which one?"

"Oh, right. The one that works at the Ministry. Percy."

"Yeah?" He carved off another piece and crammed it into his mouth. Why did she insist on having a conversation as he stuffed his face?

"He didn't say much."

"He didn't fill you in on the latest regulations regarding maximum feather length for messenger owls? I'm shocked."

She shrugged. "He looked sad."

"They probably repealed the law about how much scurvy-grass you can buy at once." he said with a snort.

"Oh stop. We're getting close, you know… everyone's starting to look like that."

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Close to what?"

"You know. A year since. It's just over a month away."

It hit him like a Stunning Spell. A year ago, he'd been holed up in that miserable tent, trying to sort out Hallows and Horcruxes and pick up _Potterwatch _broadcasts. A year ago, not even, they were found by Snatchers and dragged to Malfoy Manor. It dually seemed as though it had happen a few days ago and had _never_ happened, that it all took place in some awful dream he'd had once, or a book he'd read. It had taken such a long time to fall into the routine of daily life again that it seemed impossible he'd actually lost himself in it. Of course he still thought about Fred every day, and sometimes he had nightmares about the forest, or the basement at Malfoy Manor, or that night at Hogwarts, but--

"Ron? Ron, are you all right?"

Hannah was standing over him, a look of concern on her pale face. He realized that he was still sitting with a forkful of steak hovering six inches from his open mouth. He blinked. "Oh, yeah, sorry, I… blimey. A year. I can't believe it."

Relief spread across her face. "Yeah, I know, it's hard to believe. They say the Ministry's planning a memorial service at Hogwarts, but I haven't heard anything else-- "

Across the room, there was a loud crash, replete with what sounded like a lot of breaking glass. Hannah gave Ron an apologetic smile and hurried around the bar, pointing her wand at the broom in the corner so that it floated along after her. He turned back to his plate, mind still reeling over the realization that they were swiftly approaching the one-year anniversary of Voldemort's fall.

A memorial service at Hogwarts. He wondered what that would entail, if he'd be required to go. He hadn't actually been up to the castle since returning to The Burrow the day after the battle, with Fred's body wrapped in a plain white sheet stripped from one of the dormitory beds. It had looked broken and scarred when he'd left, but different people had told him that it had been returned almost to its original state in the... well, in the almost twelve months since he'd seen it. Seeing it again would be nice, but he wasn't sure he could handle a memorial service. In that week afterwards, he'd been to enough funerals to last him a lifetime.

Hannah still hadn't returned by the time his plate was clean, so he left a small pile of Sickles on the scarred surface of the bar and headed for the back door. As he was crossing the dining room, he thought he saw a familiar face, but the person turned away quickly, and he was left staring at the back of a girl with curly dark hair as she ascended the staircase to the rooms above. He shook his head and continued on. There were always way too many people in The Leaky Cauldron, he didn't know how Hannah managed it.

The tiny courtyard behind the pub was empty, and as the bricks dissolved to admit him into Diagon Alley, he noticed that the cobbled street was nearly deserted as well. Being Monday, as it was, most of the shops were closed, but Gringotts still had patrons, mostly shopkeepers by the look of them, trickling in and out.

"Hello Ron." said a middle-aged witch coming down the marble steps of the bank. He recognized her as Alicia Spinnet's mother, owner of The Light Fantastic, a chic little shop a safe distance from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that seemed to deal exclusively in illumination orbs, mostly of the ornamental, frou-frou, or expensive variety.

"Hello, Mrs. Spinnet." he said with a nod.

"Is George going to the proprietor meeting at the Ministry next week?"

This was the first he'd heard of a shop owner's meeting at the Ministry. "I'm not sure."

"Oh, I know, awful timing, isn't it? That's why I'm sending Alicia in my place."

"I'll be sure to tell him." Ron said, knowing that this information pretty much guaranteed that _he'd _be attending. Maybe he could convince George to send Verity instead.

"Have a nice day." she said as they parted ways.

He reached the door to the flat a few minutes later and, as expected, Pigwidgeon began to hoot as he climbed the stairs. The living room was in its typical disarray, with most of the clothes and detritus on the floor and laying over the furniture belonging to him. George was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paper and overflowing binders, heavily engrossed in reading something.

"Did you know it's almost a year since the battle?" Ron asked, opening the door to Pig's cage and flopping down on the sofa as the tiny owl began circling the room, tootling importantly.

"Shut your gob a second, will you, this is important." George said without looking up, smoothing the sheet of parchment in front of him and bringing it closer to his face.

Ron lay back, ticking off the number of times that Pig passed above him. At eight, he sat back up, peering over the back of the sofa. George was still seated at the table but now stared blankly at the far wall, a hazy expression on his face. "Everything all right?" he asked tentatively. He tried not to ask too many questions these days.

George turned his head slowly to him, and Ron tried not to flinch. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding up a few pages of heavy ivory parchment covered in cramped green writing.

"No?"

"It's a letter from Thessalonius Zonkonowksi."

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

"The owner of Zonko's."

"_That's _his real name?"

"Yeah, I can see why he went with 'Zonko's.' Anyway, he says that he'd decided not to re-open. He wants to know if I'd be interested in buying the property in Hogsmeade."

"Weren't you and Fred going to buy it beforehand?"

"Zonko could never make up his mind-- he was going to re-open, he wasn't, he was going to retire, he wasn't. Got a bit boring, quite frankly. But he says now that he's already made the decision not to re-open, and, before he puts it on the market, he'll sell it to me, as well as everything in it." A slow grin spread across his face. "He's even offering it to me at a discount."

"Are you going to buy it?" he asked as George got to his feet.

"I'm going to seriously consider it." he said, walking into the kitchen, where Ron could hear him rummaging around in drawers. He re-appeared a moment later with a sticky bottle of blue ink and a rather straggly-looking quill. "Right now, I'm going to write him a letter and ask when he can meet me in Hogsmeade to show me the place."

"Sounds good."

"And Ron, if I do end up buying it?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm tapping you to manage it. Hell, we'll be partners. It'll be Weasley and Weasley again, just, you know, different."

He sat down at the table and shook up the ink bottle, whistling out-of-tune as Ron turned away, suddenly feeling rather sick.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Have to say thanks to one of my favorite authors on this site, Kerichi, for the character of Mrs. Spinnet and her shop, The Light Fantastic. They play an part in one of my favorite stories, "For Bitter or For Worse", which is just awesome. If you haven't read it, you should. Her characterisation of Alicia is vastly different from mine... I like hers better!

Sorry for the shortness of the chapter! I'm trying to get ready for vacation, hence, I neglected poor Ron's chapter for most of this week. Still, I'm pleased with how it turned out. I really enjoy writing Ron, his interaction with other characters and his thoughts and even his sentence structure. I always feel like I can't get him quite right, but I do like to try.

For the curious, _Veneficus Nitor_, the Ministry's motto that I totally made up, has a couple of possible meaning in Latin. The first part, _veneficus_, means either "magic" or "witch/wizard". _Nitor_ has a few translations, including "brilliance", "splendor", "to strive or exert", "to lean" and "trust in". While I was going for the meaning "trust in magic", I like some of the other possible meanings, including "magic(al) splendor" and the like. I'm not sure how accurate this is, but I did take three years of Latin in high school! God bless my Catholic education for providing such useful classes as Latin, because we all know that, like calculus, people use it every day.

Thanks to everyone for their reading and reviewing! You all are way too good to me, I can't believe I already have nineteen reviews and a crapload of hits, LOL. The kind folk who reviewed the last chapter are: Jasperella, Strawberry-Swirls, cinroc, snaplappl21, Gray Eyed Beauty, StevenCarnell, smushly, crystalight22 and Babble. sings And I-I-IIIIIIIIIIII will allllllllllways love yo-uuuuuuuuu! bows


	4. Chapter 4

"Happy birthday to you!"

The kitchen was dark, save for the large amount of flickering candles on the large cake in front of him. Seven faces patterned with shadows looked on at he stared down on the candles, one for every year of his life. They were all smiling, but they did not look genuinely happy. Hell, could he blame them? He disguised a sigh as a deep breath, and blew out the candles, extinguishing all twenty-one with one great exhalation.

The lights came up with a wave of his mother's wand, and as she bent to take the cake from him, she lovingly swept his fringe back and kissed his forehead.

"What did you wish for, love?"

_Fred. _"A Muggle motorcycle and tickets to the Quidditch World Cup." They were the first two things that had come to mind that wouldn't make anyone cry.

"_I _wished you'd get a haircut this year." Bill said, tipping back in his chair.

"So said by the man with the ponytail." George replied as Mrs. Weasley set an enormous piece of cake in front of him. It oozed chocolate frosting as he pressed his fork into it.

"You should have wished for Zonko's. _Ooof_." Ginny grunted as Ron elbowed her squarely in the gut, under the guise of cutting into his cake. "You did that on purpose!"

"I did not.!" Ron replied around a mouthful of cake, looking offended.

"Yes you did! I'm getting awfully tired of your attitude towards me."

"I don't know if I want to buy Zonko's yet." George interrupted loudly, but Ginny and Ron continued to squabble.

"Ron, Ginny, take it outside!" Mr. Weasley said with uncharacteristic firmness, before turning back to George with an interested smile. "When are you going to meet with Zonkonowksi?"

"I'm meeting him in Hogsmeade the Monday after next." he continued, watching with mild amusement as Ginny punched Ron swiftly in the shoulder before darting out the kitchen door, with him hot on her heels.

"Is he willing to give you a discount?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, he's offering it to me for less than he'd get on the open market, and include everything that's in there."

"Really? That's great. What's in there?"

He shrugged. "That's what I'm going to find out."

"I think it sounds wonderful, love." Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at him from across the table, but the smile did not reach her eyes. He knew why.

"Thanks."

He finished his cake in silence, listening only half-heartedly to his brothers' conversations. Bill and Mr. Weasley were discoursing on a new Ministry regulation involving the monitoring of the Floo network, with frequent, impassioned interjections by Percy.

"-- and I can't see how you think that _less _supervision is possibly a good idea!" he was saying, two spots of colour high in his cheeks. "It's the complete antithesis of what should be happening!"

"Kingsley said that, if the Ministry should ever be infiltrated again, he wants safeguards against--"

"I understand the concept, Bill, but it seems highly unlikely that the Ministry will ever face that sort of breach again."

Bill shrugged "You know the saying, Perce, as well as I do. Wizards who fail to learn from the mistakes of their predecessors are destined to repeat them."

It was about this time that George tuned out again. Family gatherings had always been so much more noteworthy when Fred was around. They probably would have made something explode by now. He smiled to himself, imagining the cake blasting into a hundred pieces with two well-placed spells.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up. His mother looked down at him. "Are you all right, Georgie?" she asked quietly.

"Fine, Mum."

"It's just that you look so.…" she broke off with a watery sigh.

"I'm fine."

"Are you, love? Are you really?"

Conversation at the other end of the table had ceased, and George was quite aware that his father and his three elder brothers were watching them in silence. The kitchen was growing very warm and stuffy, and he was suddenly overcome with the urge to run screaming like a nutter from the claustrophobic room. "I'm fine." he said brusquely. "Please, I'm fine."

She could only nod and walk away, leaving him angry and confused. This was a difficult day for all of them, wasn't it? Why should he be special, be singled out and fawned over, just because he shared the same face as the bloke who wasn't here to celebrate his birthday? And yet, why couldn't he comfort his mother, who was hurting in ways even he couldn't imagine? What was stopping him from telling her what she desperately wanted to hear?

It wasn't the kind of situation that made him want to stick around, but he suffered through an awkward opening of gifts. When Ron and Ginny finally came through the door, both bruised, bloodied and panting heavily, George was thrilled to be forgotten in the chaos that followed.

Soon after, but not soon enough, he and Ron were ready to depart The Burrow. Following a round of rather formal good-byes and hugs from both his mother and Ginny, who seemed in a much better mood than he'd seen her in awhile, they were making their way across the back garden.

"Do you still have any of that bruise-remover paste?" Ron asked, wincing as he touched his impressively blackened eye.

"There's a jar of it in the office. She got you good, eh?"

"Unfortunately."

"You two friends again?"

"I guess. She was downright chummy after she kicked me in the ribs."

"She _kicked_ you in the ribs?"

"Oh yeah. Ginny fights dirty, or don't you remember?"

"No, I remember." he said, recalling a particular incident in which she had kidney-punched Fred for reading her diary.

They had reached the point past which they could Disapparate, and did so nearly simultaneously, appearing a millisecond apart back in the flat. Once there, Ron headed for the office and George for his bedroom, where he flopped down onto his unmade bed. Ron appeared in the doorway a moment later with the jar of bruise-remover, which he began to apply liberally to his eye.

"You going out with Lee?" he asked, sighing contentedly as she spread the thick yellow paste over his injury.

"Not tonight. Not really in the mood."

"I know what you mean. Are you, you know, all right?"

"Godric, not you too."

"Well, happy birthday, then." Ron said a moment later, looking as though he very much wanted to say something else.

"Thanks. And thanks for the quill. I didn't expect you to go for looks as well as functionality."

He shrugged. "I could have gone with peacock-feather, but you aren't really a Lockhart kind of guy."

"I'm glad you've noticed."

He nodded. "Okay, um, well, goodnight."

"Goodnight." he replied, feeling immense relief and only a touch of guilt as Ron closed the door behind him.

XxX

The pub looked vaguely like The Hog's Head, but each table was filled with people, and witches and wizards stood two deep at the bar-- save for that night, he'd never seen The Hog's Head play host to so many people. He craned his neck, but Aberforth was nowhere to be seen. Over by the fireplace, beneath the large portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, a kind-faced witch was sipping sherry from a slender flute. Her hair was very fair and very long, in a plait that hung to her waist. She caught his eye and smiled warmly, as though they knew each other. He smiled back, uncertain.

"You're making eyes at Loony Lovegood's mum."

His head whipped around. Standing above him, inexplicably, was Fred, looking as alive as he ever had, a large mug of dark amber liquid clutched in one hand. "F-Fred?" he stammered. "What-- where is this place? Is this a dream?"

"No, you great muppet, I really am this good-looking. Can I sit?"

"I-- sure." He watched, feeling almost completely unmoored as Fred slipped into the seat across from him, waving jovially to a squat man with a bushy beard and a lazy eye. "Seriously, is this a dream?" he demanded. "It doesn't feel like a dream."

Fred looked thoughtful as he sipped from his mug. When he drew it back, there was a large swathe of foam on his upper lip. "Well, technically, you're in that weird place between asleep and awake. So it's not _really _a dream. At least not in principle."

"So you're still….?"

"Deceased, late, departed, sainted, clogs up? Yep, still dead."

George touched the space above his own mouth. "But am I actually here?"

"What is 'here'?" Fred asked with a smirk, wiping his lip with the back of his sleeve. "I mean, is it a physical place, or a state of--"

"You know, you're just as bloody infuriating now as you were when you were alive."

He laughed. "I get that a lot. Anyway, if you open your eyes-- and I swear to Godric that I will haunt you if you do-- you'll be snug in your own bed, and Ronnie'll still be sawing logs on the sofa."

"How are--"

Fred shrugged. "How should I know? You wished for it. When you blew out your candles."

"But--"

"Look, I don't make the rules around here, I just do what I'm told. 'Go with Mrs. Lovegood and sing folk songs to Luna', 'follow Ron into London and scare that Muggle so he forgets to lock his gate', 'hover 'round the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts and shoo birds in front of the Slytherin Seeker--"

"Wait, _doing_ what you're _told_? Has the afterlife made you feeble?"

"Hardly. D'you really think they tell me to sing swear words to the tune of 'Scotland the Brave?' No, I just do it 'cause I know you'll hear it and recognize me!"

"Oh. Well, then, why--"

"Oi! For someone who knows magic, you're sure having a hard time keeping an open mind. You want a drink?" he asked, peering into the bottom of his empty mug.

He considered. "Sure."

"Good, good, this place isn't half-bad." Fred half-stood and waved across the pub, flagging down a dark-haired girl in an apron. She approached the table with a friendly smile. "What can I getchoo lads?" she asked in a heavy Scottish accent.

"Two more, please, Caitriona." Fred said with a wink. The girl rolled her eyes good-naturedly and went off into the crowd once again. "So, how've you been?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"You think I don't have anything better to do than hang around and watch you? I've got other stuff going !"

"Like what?"

"Like the weekly Wizard Chess game with Fabian and Gideon, and choir practice, and I gotta keep an eye on the whole family, don't I? There are seven more besides you, ya know. Plus Fleur, and Elizabeth and Hermione and Harry, but they don't exactly count as part of the family yet--"

"Harry and Ginny broke it off."

Fred put on a look of mock horror and slapped his own wrist. "Did I say _yet_? How silly of me, I must not know anything."

"Git."

He shot George a devilish grin. "You know it, Forge. And while we're on the subject of the family, you might want to lay off 'em a bit, especially Mum. They love you, and all that."

"Yeah, I know. I just hate the way they look at me sometimes, like I'm… I don't know... incomplete, or something."

"You _are _incomplete, lugless. Didja forget about that hole in the side of your head?"

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, you're right. But you might want to stop being such a prat-- they're in mourning, for Godric's sake, show some compassion. No wonder they're sad. Everyone knew I was the best looking out of the whole litter." he said, a wide grin on his face.

George shrugged, marvelling at the casual way Fred lounged in his seat, talking about his own death. "So you hang 'round with Fabian and Gideon? What are they like?"

"Oh, great blokes, real ace. You'd like 'em, they're a good time. We've got a bet going on now when Fleur's gonna pop out her first kid. Gideon's already out, his money was on February just past. They wanted to come with me here, but I said hold off. Next time. Didn't want to overload you, ya know, scare you off."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiled over George's head, and a second later, Caitriona approached the table, two full mugs in her hand. "Thanks, Cait." he said with a salacious smile.

"Call me that again, Fred Weasley, and I'll cuff that mingin' head o' yours." she replied with a smile, then laid her hand on George's shoulder. "Was'is edjit like this when 'e was alive?"

"Frequently." George replied, looking up at the Scottish girl. The corners of her dark eyes crinkled in a smile, and then she was gone, weaving through the crowd to answer another patron's call.

"She looks a bit like your friend." Fred said, sentence punctuated by a long draught from his glass.

"What friend?"

"Honestly, George, it seems a bit unlikely that you've already forgotten your own kid."

He took a tentative sip from his own mug, found it tasted quite like cold butterbeer, and drank more. "Oh, you mean Paige?" he asked, taking another drink. "Yeah, kind of."

Fred looked at him expectantly for a moment, then made a coaxing kind of motion with his hands. George noticed that the knuckles of his left hand were cut and bruised. "Is that all? Come on, you have to have something more to say about it than that!"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything!" Fred said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Gideon and I were sitting with Sirius the other day, and we were talking about what colour Mum's gonna turn when you finally tell her."

"Sirius? That's really comforting." He paused. "What colour do you think?"

"I said first red, then purple."

"That's what I was leaning towards, too."

"Yeah, but Sirius said white, and Gideon went with white, _then_ red."

"Oh. Yeah, I can picture that too."

"Yeah." Fred tossed back the last bit of his drink, then leaned over the table. "But tell me, what are you planning to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, George, you're a lot dumber now than I remember."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Now, what about the kid?"

"Right. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Of course. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you."

"Come on."

"Negative. But if you stop interrogating me after every breath, I promise I'll tell you something almost as interesting."

George sighed. "All right, all right."

"Good. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I glanced in on your, uh, friend. She happened to be at work at the time, and... Well, as enjoyable as _I_ found it, that's no environment to bring a kid. Especially not a Weasely. Everyone looks pasty, smells like smoke and rancid lager--"

"I'm not sure that I really want to hear this."

"That's tough shite. Listen, George, far be it from me to tell you that you have to have deep-seated emotional attachment to a girl to sleep with her--"

"Fred with the relationship advice, ladies and gentlemen! Remind me, dear brother, how many girls you've slept with?"

"We're talking about you here, you ear-lacking lummox."

"Like I thought." He grinned. "The floor is yours."

"About time! Your time here is only good 'til you drop off asleep, sunshine. I get to hang around indefinitely. So," he said, rubbing his hands briskly together, "back to the topic at hand. The general consensus is, you need to put forth a little bit more effort."

"What a load of old bollocks. I've put in plenty--"

"Right. So, was the effort showing up to the café, or letting her get the check?"

"That's pants!"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Look, do what you want, I'm just telling you what I see."

"All right." George replied, if only to mollify his brother. "I'll think about it."

"What's there to think about? Kid could be the spitting image of yours truly. Why would you want to deprive greater Wizarding Britain of that?"

"I said I'll think about it."

"Point taken." He checked his watch. "Getting a little late for you, eh, dear brother? I reckon you're going to be out cold in five minutes."

George nodded, trying to be nonchalant, but he had no real desire to leave this place. If this was what death was like, sitting around in a pub and betting on--

"It's not all it's cracked up to be. It's not so bad here, everyone's cool, but I'd much rather be alive."

"What, you can read my mind now?"

He waved his hand. "It's not like we have a psychic connection. You're not feckin' Trelawney. But we're still twins. I can still read you like a book."

"Oh, is that right? Go ahead, try me."

Fred stroked his chin as he looked across the table at his brother, brows furrowed in concentration. "Okay, I know. You're thinking about that time in winter of fourth year, when we stole Percy's flagon of frog spawn and charmed it to sing 'An Poc Ar Buile' every time Snape scratched that mammoth nose of his."

A roguish grin appeared on George's face. "Close. I'm thinking of the Yule Ball, when we hit Kenneth Towler with Jelly-Legs whilst he was dancing with that girl from Beauxbatons."

"Ahhhh yes. He went down like a ton of bricks. Tried to catch himself on the front of her dress, if I recall. Thought he was being cheeky, didn't she, and shot him point-blank with Conjunctivitis Curse." He smiled fondly at the memory. "But how is that close to what I guessed?"

"They were both bloody brilliant."

"And how."

George was vaguely aware of a sense of motion, as though he was on a very slow-moving train, looking back as the pub remained stationary. "Wait, what's going on?"

"Looks like you're falling asleep."

"But wait, no, I'm not ready. I just got here."

"Everything in moderation. Mind if I finish your drink?"

"Go ahead. But I want--"

"Oh, Georgie, don't get all wet on me. I'm always around."

"But--"

"Shut up now." he said with a rueful smile. The distance between them was growing, and quickly. Fred leaned across the table and procured his half-empty mug. "Oh, and I promised you something interesting, didn't I? All right, then... June."

"June? What happens in June?"

He grinned, looking just as alive as he ever had. "Everything."

XxX

George awoke with a start. The sound of Ron's deep, steady snoring seeped into the dark room, but it was not this that had awakened him. He'd just had an incredibly vivid dream, one that had felt almost real, and now his head felt like in was in the midst of a Quidditch brawl, his thoughts frenzied and all over the place.

He dressed quickly, and crept out into the sitting room. According to the clock on the wall, it was only quarter past one. Ron was flat on his back on the sofa, sprawled comfortably out with one foot hanging over the arm. Pig's cage stood open, empty, and the window was cracked just enough to let the tiny owl back in. George contemplated waking his brother, but didn't. Instead, he skulked down the stairs and out into the night.

Diagon Alley was deserted at this time on a weeknight, and his footsteps echoed uncomfortably In the stillness. The Leaky Cauldron was still doing a brisk business, though, ablaze with light and laughter. He glanced through the window as he passed, moving swiftly out onto Charing Cross Road, stopping frequently to consult the directions.

Ten minutes later, after twice needing to double back after a wrong turn, he paused in the deep shadows between streetlamps and turned on the spot, concentrating hard on the address clutched in his hand. He appeared a moment later on a narrow avenue. The blank, featureless buildings that lined the street were thrown into stark relief by the buzzing streetlamps, making him feel claustrophobic. Nearby but unseen, a radio played, the music punctuated by the occasional shout or burst of raucous laughter. With a final glance at the crumpled napkin in his hand , he approached the nearest building and pulled open the heavy door.

George moved quickly through the tiny vestibule lined with mail slots and into a dingy, high-ceilinged hallway that gave him the impression of moving down a chute. It smelled of smoke and cooking oil, and the air hummed with muffled music and conversation. He rode the tiny lift up to the third floor, and a nearly identical hallway stretched in front of him. Finally, he stopped on the threadbare carpet outside of a door, marked number 39 in flaking brown paint.

His feet were threatening to act of their own accord and break into a run, but he steeled himself against any rogue impulses. What was he doing here? _This… oh, bugger it, enough with the philosophical questions and the existential crises, just bloody do something_, he thought angrily to himself. Then he knocked.

There was activity within, and what sounded like a lock clicking, and then the door opened. He was taken aback by the person that stood in front of him, a pale-skinned girl with electric pink hair and excessively large black boots. She might have been cute, save for her hostile expression.

"Who are you?" she asked frostily, folding her arms over her snug-fitting t-shirt.

"Uh, I must have the wrong place--"

"I _asked_, who are you?"

"I'm George, but I--."

"You're George?" she interrupted, cocking an over-arched eyebrow inquisitively at him.

"I am."

The change in her demeanour was slight but significant. "Well, come in." she said, stepping back and making a sweeping gesture with her hand, admitting him into the flat. As he entered, though, he realized that it wasn't a series of rooms, like where he lived, but instead one not-very-large room. It was cramped at best, containing one miniscule table with two folding chairs, a tiny bookcase that made the headboard of a narrow bed, another chair by the window at the foot of the bed, and a series of cabinets in an L shape that ran most of length of one wall and around to the window. On the worktop closest to him, something that resembled a wireless set cased in a plastic shell was spitting out strange music, all strings and edges and lilting female vocals.

Paige was kneeling on one of the chairs at the table, and looked up, alarmed, as he entered. "George, what's wrong?"

"Oh, uh…"

"He was just in the _neighbourhood_, Paige, isn't it obvious?" the other girl said, sounding highly amused. She slipped close behind him and took the empty seat at the table, which was littered with cartons and containers of food. She crossed one leg over the other and fixed him with a significant look. It was then that he decided he reviled this girl, whoever she may be.

"I, er, yeah." he said lamely.

Paige looked at him strangely. "Well, uh, okay, sure. There's plenty of food, if you're hungry. You can grab the chair over there if you want." she said, gesturing over to the window.

"Oh, that's all right." he said, already edging towards the door. "I can just come by another time."

"Nonsense, ginger." the pink-haired girl said. "I'll be leaving shortly. You should stay; we were just talking about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"Hmmmm, that remains to be seen."

Behind her, Paige rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to her. Anymore, I mean. George, this is my friend Verlaine. We work together. Verlaine, this is George."

"He's the one that got you in the family way, yes. Pleasure to finally meet you." Verlaine said, offering her pale, slender hand to him. It felt cool in his.

After a long, appraising look, Verlaine got to her feet. "I think you'll suffice." she said with a nod, then turned to Paige. "Then this is good-night, love. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." Paige answered

"Smashing." Verlaine turned once more to George, stepping closer to him. "Until we meet again, then." she said, and then quietly exited the room, boots clunking against the peeling linoleum.

George waited until the door clicked softly shut behind her before turning to Paige. "What the hell was that?"

"Oh, don't listen to her. Verlaine likes to make people uncomfortable."

"She didn't make me uncomfortable." he said, taking the chair that had just been vacated.

Paige shrugged. "Well, either way, I apologize." She pulled a white carton towards her and unfolded the top, then dug into the mound of rice within, bringing up a great spoonful. Then she paused. "Hey, George, don't take this the wrong way, but… what are you doing here? Isn't today your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"Well, happy birthday. How old are you now?"

"Twenty-one."

"Oh, even better. Cheers."

"Thanks."

"So, uh, what's up?" she asked, tossing a plastic fork across the table to him and indicating the spread in front of them. "Feel free, by the way-- there's plenty."

"Thanks." he said, fiddling with the clear wrapping over the utensil. "Well, uh-- wait, are you... sparkling?"

She wiped her neck with the back of her hand, then inspected it. "Oh, yeah. Body glitter; an occupational hazard."

"Oh. Why?"

"Why glitter? Couldn't tell you." She sniffed a carton of some sort of noodle concoction, wrinkled her nose, and pushed it across to him.

"I've been thinking." he said, winding noodles around his fork.

There was a long silence, broken only by the strange music that still played. "About anything in particular?" she finally asked.

"Yeah, about, you know, the kid."

"Right."

"And, well… I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with this, uh, arrangement."

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

He sighed. "I don't want you working at that place anymore. It can't be good for the kid."

This was apparently not the correct thing to say. She sat back, folding her arms over her chest. "I see. And, um, what exactly would you suggest that I do instead?"

"I'm… not entirely sure."

The look on her face was not encouraging. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to quit my job, but you don't know what you want me to do instead."

"Yeah, that about covers it."

She let out a snort. "Look, George, I'm not exactly overrun with marketable skills, in case you didn't notice. I guess I appreciate your concern, but unless you want me and my ripening uterus to follow you home, that just isn't really--"

"Can I see it?" he blurted out.

"I-- what?"

"Can I see your stomach?" he asked, feeling enormously embarrassed as the words left his mouth.

A strange expression passed fleetingly across her face, but she slowly nodded and got to her feet, coming to stand in front of him. He watched, half fascinated and half terrified, as she lifted her shirt. There was a rounded swell, just above the waistband of her pants, that reminded him inexplicably of looking at large egg sideways. It made him feel strange.

"If I'd been skinnier, you'd probably be able to see better."

"I can tell where it is. Can you feel it yet?"

"Moving, you mean? No, not yet."

He raised a hand, but let it hover in the air, not knowing how she would react if he touched her. Finally, she took his hand in hers and laid it against the small bulge of her stomach. His heart was hammering in his chest, and all at once he wanted to laugh, to cry, and to be sick.

They stood like that for a long while, until finally she broke the silence. "Kind of crazy, huh? I mean, to think there's a baby in there."

"Yeah." he said quietly, and he was pretty sure that now he understood Percy a little better, even if the kid in question didn't belong to him in a biologic sense.

The next hours passed by with amazing speed. His interest in the contents of her stomach had seemed to change things, and she seemed more willing to open up to him, and vice versa. He seemed able to say things to her, not because of who she was exactly, but because of who she wasn't. It wasn't something he could articulate, but there was something comforting about the way she listened to him speak, and she did not look at him in that way that made him want to throw things.

Pale light was filtering through the curtains by the time he finally looked at the clock. It was nearly six.

"You should get some rest." she said. "Why don't you sleep here instead of going back across town?"

"No, I've got to get going." he replied. "Work soon."

"Oh, right." Her voice sounded rather disappointed. "Thanks for coming by."

"Thank you." He hesitated. "Will you be going to work tonight?"

She smiled contritely at him. "I honestly don't think I have a choice, George. I know what you're saying, but I don't exactly have an alternative right now. I need a place to live."

"You can come stay with me." The words had barely escaped his lips when he realized just exactly what he was offering.

Paige looked at him in disbelief. "You don't mean that."

"I do." In fact, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted _her _to come stay with him, but he certainly wanted the baby to, and at this point, he couldn't have one without the other.

"But George…."

"I want to take care of you. Both of you."

After a long moment, she nodded. "I want to let you."

He took a deep breath. "Well, if this is going to happen, there's something I need to tell you."

"Okay." she replied cautiously.

_Well, here it went. _"I-- I'm a wizard."

She stared at him for a very long time, then stood up from the table. "For fuck's sake, George. I get it if you aren't into this, but to get to the point where you ask me to come stay with you--"

"Wait!" He leaned over the table and grabbed her wrist. "Please, wait."

"You could have at least come up with something _believable, _like you were married or something." A thunderous look was on her face, but she sank slowly back into the seat and held out her hands as if to say, "What now?"

From his pocket, he withdrew his wand. She looked from his face to the slender bit of wood in his hand, expression morphing from one of anger to one of complete and utter bewilderment. He pointed it at the take-away napkin that lay crumpled on the table. _"Reducto_."

It burst into flames. Her jaw fell open as she watched it burn brilliantly, impressively, for a few seconds before disintegrating into ash. She stared at the smouldering remains in stunned silence. Very slowly, her head lifted until their eyes met. "How?" she breathed, barely audibly.

"Magic."

"I don't believe you." she said, but she didn't look convinced.

"I'll show you."

Very slowly, she nodded.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Well, that was fun to write. The exchange between Fred and George wasn't supposed to be the longest part of the chapter, it was actually supposed to be very brief, but I couldn't help myself.

As an aside, I pictured Paige and her obnoxious friend Verlaine (who is totally a mall goth) sitting around listening to Rasputina and eating Chinese food, much like a particular stripper I knew in my misspent youth.

I hope that now my motives for using an OC are clearer as opposed to picking a canon female. As time passes, and we won't see Paige and George interact for a good three or four chapters, they have a bit of a role reversal-- whereas he initially was reluctant to want any sort of relationship with Paige or the baby, he becomes more excited and falls into the role of "family man". Paige will be the one who has difficulty, because being non-magical in an entirely magic environment is going to prove very difficult.

Ginny and Ron are friends again, yay! The next chapter will focus on her. And I'd say more, but I'm going to see _The Dark Knight _in less than an hour, and I'm still in my pajamas.

And now I have a favor to ask-- soon, we'll have a chapter all about the first anniversary of the battle. Who's point of view do you think it should it be from?

_Danke schoen _to the fine folk who reviewed the last chapter: Jasperella, Shlee Verde, WaffleNinja, snapplappl21, Strawberry-Swirls, smushly, crystalight22, cinroc, and katkat000.


	5. Chapter 5

he Common Room was quite full, but she had tuned everyone out, concentrating solely on the Transfiguration essay that she had put off for entirely too long. It had taken her three hours to cover six inches of parchment with her large, loopy script, and she had only nine hours to cover eight more, as well as sleep. Well, sleep she could do without. Transfiguration, she could not. At least not if she wanted more out of a career than wand-washing dishes at The Three Broomsticks.

Slowly, the noise level in the comfortable tower room began to creep down. More and more students were calling it a night with each passing minute and going up to bed, something she desperately wanted to do as well. As she double-checked the spelling of the _vicissitudo substantia _spell in her textbook, she found herself stifling a rather large yawn behind her hand.

"Tired?"

Startled, Ginny looked up. "I thought you went to bed."

"Not yet." Ritchie said, getting up from his seat near the window and sauntering over to the table, where he stood with his hands in pockets. "Need some help?"

"That depends." she said, taking advantage of this distraction to lean back and stretch, then sweep her hair up into a knot on top of her head. "What do you know about Advanced Transfiguration?"

He dropped into the chair across from her. "I know some stuff." he replied loftily.

"Don't lie, Coote, you're not good at it."

"At lying or at Transfiguration?"

"Call me crazy, but I'm going to go with both." She re-inked her quill and brought it back down to the parchment, aware that he was watching her intently. "Can I help you?"

"Your lip looks better."

She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, where the split was healing nicely. Her black eye was all but gone. "Thanks."

"What are you using on it?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Bruise-Remover Paste. Best there is. Ron owled me some yesterday."

"Isn't he the one you scrapped with?"

"Yep." she answered mildly, cursing silently to herself as she added an extra "s" to the middle of the word "transubstantiation"

"That was nice of him."

"Yep." After another second, she laid her quill down and looked up at him. "Look, Ritchie, I really need to get this done. Is there something that you need?"

"Yeah, actually, I wanted to remind you that you owe me a coffee."

"Funny, I don't remember owing you anything."

"You do. From that day in Diagon Alley after Christmas."

"If you say so."

"I was wondering if you'd like to make good on that on Saturday. It's a Hogsmeade day, you know."

"Oh, I know. My mum and my sister-in-law and my _other _sister in-law-- well, soon-to-be-- are coming to meet me."

"Why?"

"Wedding stuff. I have to be a bridesmaid. And that means I have to try on some dress, but I can't keep leaving school at the drop of a wand, so they're coming to Hogsmeade."

"Oh. What about after? After you meet them, I mean."

It took a great internal struggle not to roll her eyes. "If I say yes, will you leave me alone?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah."

"All right then, fine. We can get coffee on Saturday."

The way he practically floated out of the Common Room and towards the boys' dormitories gave her a rather anxious feeling, almost like she'd just inadvertently signed something that turned out to be a deal with a Dark wizard. _Well done_, she congratulated herself caustically, _you just agreed to something that could be construed as a date with the biggest yob this side of the River Clyde. _

She chased the thought out of her mind with homework, finally laying down her quill a final time as the clock above the mantelpiece struck half-past three. A steady rain had kicked up somewhere in the past four hours, and the sound of it drumming on the windows was the only thing that broke the silence. It seemed as though the whole castle was still and peaceful.

Something about the way light and shadow patterned the walls reminded her of a very different event that had taken place in the Common Room, back in her fifth year; the rowdy, impromptu party following Gryffindor's Quidditch victory over Ravenclaw… during which she and Harry had shared their first kiss, in front of fifty cheering people.

Ginny smiled at the memory as she shuffled sleepily up the stairs, at how young and silly they'd been. An awful lot had happened since that kiss, she thought, with only a trace of resentment. In light of everything, it seemed so stupid to continue dwelling on Harry, and what had happened. After all, it'd been her idea to break up. It'd been four months, and she was only starting to not want to throw things when she thought of him.

The dormitory was dark and quiet, save for the rain that still pelted the windows and Regina Towler's shallow, nasal breathing. Regina and Ginny got on about as well as the twins had with Kenneth, and Ginny was tempted, briefly but strongly, to hit her with the Nose-Plug hex. Instead, she fell onto her bed, too tired to bother changing into pyjamas. Her last thought before sleep was not of jinxing Regina, but of some vaguely formed notion of Harry, and how she was going to take Hermione's advice of so long ago, and let him be.

It seemed as though she'd been asleep for approximately three minutes when the alarm clock on her night table began to ring importantly. With a grunt, she pulled her pillow over her face and groped blindly for the clock. She found her wand instead, which she pointed at the source of the ringing. It gave one last startled chime, and then was silent.

A few more minutes of blissful dozing were interrupted by a poke in the shoulder. "Ginny." A voice said somewhere above her, then more insistently, "_Ginny._"

"What?" she groaned into her pillow, which was then removed from her face. The pinched face of Regina Towler hovered above.

"Come on. You're going to be-- what happened to you?"

"Transfiguration--" she yawned elaborately, once, then twice-- "essay."

"Well, get a move on. Today's no day for a lie-in."

With that, she walked out the dormitory door. The other two girls that shared the room, Aoibheann and Claire, were already gone as well, leaving her in danger of nodding back off to sleep. Finally, she dragged herself to her feet and into her robes, then down to the Great Hall, where most students were already well into breakfast.

Luna drifted over to join her as she was pouring herself a second cup of coffee. A large something that looked to be made almost entirely of bright orange feathers and long grass sat atop her pile of schoolbooks.

"Good morning, Ginny." she said, settling down across from her.

"Good morning. What's that?"

"Just something I'm working on between lessons." she replied pleasantly. "Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I was up 'til almost four, finishing that fourteen inches of parchment for McGonagall."

"That's very late. Much later than I usually stay up."

"It's later than I usually stay up too. But it wasn't so bad, it's very quiet that time of night."

"I imagine that's helpful. The castle is often quite noisy. Excuse me, are you going to eat that?" she asked a second-year that sat a little ways down the table, pointing to a lonely bowl of porridge that sat in the middle of the table.

"No?" he answered cautiously, fixing Luna's dangling radish earrings with a wide-eyed stare before pushing the bowl timidly towards her.

"Thank you." She turned back to Ginny, who was biting back a smile. "He was very nice, wasn't he?"

"A prince."

"I might take after you and stay up late tonight. I've been drafting plans for my trip in the summertime, and I find that the other students can be rather distracting. I have Madagascar on my itinerary three times."

"You're going to Madagascar?"

"Oh, yes, but only once. Well, for now." She paused for a spoonful of porridge before continuing. "Neville and I are planning to tour the coast of Eastern Africa."

"Really?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows in interest.

"He and I have been planning since we came back from Belize. I'm very eager to go to Comoros; people say that one of the last remaining colonies of Umgubular Slashkilters is in the jungle there."

"Oh." It was all she could think of to say.

"It's all very exciting." she said, smiling distantly at the air somewhere behind Ginny's head. Then, just as quickly, she focused back on her. "How about you?"

"What do you mean, how about me?"

"What did you use the time to think about?"

"Oh, uh, well… Harry."

Luna nodded encouragingly.

"I decided that, uh, I'm going to let him be."

This did not seem to be what Luna was expecting to hear, as her expression fell by degrees to puzzlement. "Have you decided that you no longer enjoy Harry's company?"

"It's not that. I'm just tired of moping after him. All I want is for him to be happy."

"You should want to be happy as well."

"I know. I do. I mean, I am."

"Hmmm." Luna said thoughtfully, absentmindedly twisting a long lock of hair around the end of her spoon. "Yes, I see that you do seem happier today. Even if you do look quite tired."

She stifled another yawn. "Yeah, well, I had to get that essay done. When did you finish?"

"Oh, last week. I much prefer Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures to Transfiguration, so I wanted to get it out of the way."

"I wish I would have thought to do that."

"Perhaps next time."

"Maybe."

A banging overhead signalled the arrival of the morning post, and soon the air above the tables was filled with owls. Two landed almost in near synchronization on the Gryffindor table, the small tawny in front of Ginny, and the large snowy before Luna.

"That from your dad?" Ginny asked, removing the two envelopes bearing her name from the owl's scaly leg. He waited for Luna to take her letter before both owls flew away again and above the clouds covering the enchanted ceiling.

"Neville." she replied, turning faintly pink as she plucked an exotic-looking flower that had been pressed between the pages of the letter. "He's studying plants in Bhutan."

"That's gorgeous." Ginny said, gently taking the flower from Luna. She held it by its delicate, papery stem and turned it slowly, admiring the strange, tufty blue petals before handing it back. "Are you…?"

"Oh, no, we're just friends." she said, with an uncharacteristically shy smile. "What have you got?"

"Good question." She ripped open the first envelope, addressed to her in very familiar handwriting, and shaking out piece of parchment. "Oh, great, Mum sent pictures of the dress."

The pair of photos that Mrs. Weasley had enclosed both showed Fleur Weasley standing in front of a three-panelled mirror, admiring her reflection as she turned this way and that, checking out all angles of the sage green dress that she wore. It was simple and strapless, and, as Luna commented, looked very comfortable.

"It does, doesn't it? It could be a lot worse." Ginny said, taking another look at Fleur's posing before passing off the photos to Luna. "Wonder who this is from?" She tore open the other envelope and extracted another letter.

_Dear Ginny_, it read.

_I hope this letter finds you well. Between practices and matches (both mine and Davy's!), I'm not getting a lot of time to sit down and write, so please forgive the lateness of my owl. How is the Quidditch season at Hogwarts? I was at the match in February, and Gryffindor's team looks first rate. Who's your Keeper? She'd make Wood proud. But, of course, you were amazing, and this is actually why I'm writing. I've mentioned you several times to Gwenog Jones, and I went on so much about you after your last match, she wants to clap eyes on you herself. _

Here, Ginny had to pause and re-read the line a few times before continuing on.

_So we're going to come up to the castle for your last match next month, assuming of course that it's okay with you! As she said herself, there's always room on the team for a talented player. But no pressure, ha ha! I'm sure you'll be busy lugging the Quidditch cup around, but make sure you leave a few minutes to talk to her after the match. Hoping all is well, and pass my regards on to George._

_Angelina _

"Have you caught a Wrackspurt?" Luna asked affably, and Ginny finally looked up and noticed that her friend's large silvery eyes were fixed on her.

"What? Oh, no, it's just… wow, read this." she said, shaking her head in amazement and pushing the paper across the table.

"That's very thrilling." Luna agreed after she had finished perusing the letter and handed it back. "Perhaps they'll ask you to play Quidditch with them next year."

"And maybe Cornelius Fudge will become the new Transfiguration teacher."

"Oh, I hope not. He doesn't seem as though he'd be very good. Has he already accepted the position?"

"I wasn't serious. I don't think McGonagall would give him a job, even Filch's."

"Well, that's a relief. Remember when he used his position as Minister for Magic to orchestrate a hostile takeover of Gringott's?"

"Er… I remember that story in _The Quibbler_, yeah."

This answer seemed to satisfy Luna. The bell rang before she had the opportunity to press the issue, and the girls collected their belongings and joined the flood of students filing out of the Great Hall towards their first morning classes. They split up at the main staircase, with Luna heading towards for the greenhouses for Herbology, and Ginny going down into the dungeons for Potions.

"Ginny!"

She paused, juggling her books from one arm to another as Balfour Perkins, the swaggering fifth-year Chaser that had an unnatural aversion to Quidditch practice, waved her down.

"Yeah?" she asked curiously. This was highly unusual-- she wasn't sure he'd ever actively sought her out.

"What's this I hear about you and Coote?"

"Excuse me?"

"I just wanted to make sure that everything's still going to be fair, with you and him--"

"Look, Perkins, I think you have the wrong information. You don't need to be concerned about anything of the sort. And make sure you pass that along to anyone else who might have the wrong idea, all right?"

"All right. Sure. I'll see you later."

From the way he looked back over his shoulder at her as he walked away, she knew he didn't believe a word she'd said. With an exasperated sigh, she continued down into the dungeons. She'd been awake less than an hour, and already it was shaping up to be a very long day.

XxX

Saturday turned out to be sunny and unseasonably warm for mid-April, which meant a large turnout for the Hogsmeade trip. She walked into the village with Demelza and Aoibheann, who were more than happy to tell her that half of Gryffindor house was spending their lunch hour debating on why she had broken it off with Harry for Ritchie.

"For the last time, it's just coffee!"

"Tell that to him." Aoibheann said.

"Oh, don't you worry, I will. Funny how I haven't seen him since Wednesday."

A plump woman with bright red hair was waving gaily at them from further up on High Street, standing with a tall, slender with long silvery-blonde hair and a compact brunette in jeans and trainers. Ginny said good-bye to her friends and went to greet her mother, Fleur and Elizabeth, who were standing outside of a shop called _La Primevère Rose_. It was painted a particularly precious shade of pink.

"Hello." she said, letting her mother hug her and fuss over her, though it had been scarcely a week ago that she'd been home for George's birthday. Fleur looked eager to go inside, while beside her, Elizabeth kept eyeing the shop warily. After an appropriate amount of hugs and exclamations, they went inside.

"_Mon Dieu._" Fleur muttered under her breath.

Inside, the dress shop was small and cluttered, with doilies on every available flat surfaces and wallpaper that looked like an over-fertilised cottage garden had vomited all over the walls. At first, Fleur had looked offended at the sheer cuteness of the place, but was now closely examining a chic pair of slate-blue robes. Elizabeth looked immensely uncomfortable, and tried hard not to touch anything as she followed Ginny and Mrs. Weasley past racks of very elaborate hats and glass cases filled with things like winged opera glasses, elbow-length gloves, and high-heeled satin shoes.

"You must be the Weasleys!" called a voice, and a short witch bustled out from behind a pink voile curtain at the back of the shop. She wore a long navy blue skirt and crisp white blouse, and what looked like a lacy tea cosy on top of her grey hair. She seized Mrs. Weasley's hand and squeezed it tight. "I'm Madame Brouchard, dear, but I'm sure you know that. Now, is this the bride?" she asked, turning to Ginny with a wide smile.

"Oh, no, this is my daughter Ginevra, the bridesmaid that needs to try on her dress. This is the bride, Elizabeth." Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing to Elizabeth, whose smile was so uncomfortable it looked rather like she had just swallowed a large mouthful of Doxycide. Madame Brouchard did not seem to notice.

"Why yes, dear, of course. Many congratulations are in order."

"Thank you." Elizabeth replied.

"Are you in the market for a dress as well?"

"Oh, um, no, actually, I'll be wearing my mother's."

Madame Brouchard's smile never faltered, but the eager gleam of a sale left her eyes. "How lovely. Now, come here, let's let your bridesmaid have a look at the dress-- Almandine!" she called loudly, "_Venez ici!"_

A moment later, a plump house-elf with very large violet eyes rushed into the shop from behind the curtain, a bundle of green fabric in her skinny arms. "Here I is, Madame, here I is." she puffed, coming to stand next to the older witch.

"Here, dear, you can change back here." Madame Brouchard said to Ginny, indicating a silk-panelled screen in the back corner of the shop. She took the dress from the house-elf and followed her behind the screen. "Do you need assistance?"

"Uh, no... thanks. I've got it."

Finally, she went back around into the shop, leaving the dress on a delicate gold hanger. Considering the dresses she had seen in the five minutes since coming into Madame Brouchard's off the High Street, Ginny considered herself lucky.

"Oh, Ginny, that colour ees simply _gorgeous_ on you!" Fleur exclaimed as she came back around the screen and stood in front of the mirror. The reflections of her mother, both sisters-in-law, and the dressmaker and her house-elf all smiled back at her.

"It'd look even better if you weren't wearing your Quidditch socks." Mrs. Weasley said reprovingly, but smiled as she stepped behind her and tugged at the dress. "A bit roomy in the waist, it could stand to be brought in an inch or so…."

Before she could finish, Madame Brouchard pulled a long, narrow wand from her puffy sleeve and came behind Ginny. "Just leave that to me, dear." she said briskly, drawing a long golden tape measure from an unseen pocket and going to work. The house-elf appeared at her side with a dish of pins. "Tea length?" she asked.

"Yes." Elizabeth replied, after getting nods of confirmation from Mrs.Weasley and Fleur. "Please."

"Lovely. Stand tall, Ginevra." she instructed around a mouthful of pins. Ginny obliged, standing still as the dressmaker knelt down on the floor, pinning the satin skirt so that it fell midway between the knee and the ankle. "Hmmmm, now, let me see." she murmured, straightening up and looking critically at the dress. "Yes, an inch in the waist should be sufficient, and, dear me, at least as much in the bust…."

Ginny groaned inwardly as Madame Brouchard continued to fuss over the dress. After what felt like an hour, she straightened up. The dress was full of pins, but it did fit her perfectly. "Yes, I think that will do. You can take the dress off, Ginevra. Just be careful."

Hastily, she retreated behind the screen and eased out of the dress. On the other side of the screen, she could hear her mother politely declining Madame Brouchard's hard sells of everything from handbags to silk slips.

"Oh, no, thank you, but we're not at the accessory stage yet... Oh, love, are you ready?" she asked, looking relieved as Ginny came back into the shop proper.

"Yep."

"Well, all right then, Madame Brouchard, I'll be back in two weeks to pick up the dress." Mrs. Weasley said, edging towards the door, where Fleur and Elizabeth were waiting, not altogether patiently.

"Two weeks dear, and let me know if you'll be needing anything else."

"Of course, of course. Thank you!" With that, she turned and hurried for the door, with Ginny right behind her.

"Zat woman was many t'ings, Molly, but she was certainly _not _French." Fleur said with derision asked as they joined the shoppers on High Street.

"I'm sorry." Elizabeth said, looking embarrassed. "It was the only place in Hogsmeade that would alter a dress I bought elsewhere."

"Eet ees not your fault." Fleur waved her hand. "Zee dresses are lovely, and with all of us in different places, zis is zee best we could do."

Ginny was impressed with her sister-in-law's diplomacy. "Has your cousin been fitted for her dress yet?" she inquired. Her information on the plans was spotty-- first, there had been no wedding party, then she'd gotten a short but sweet note from Charlie and Elizabeth, asking her to be a bridesmaid along with Fleur and Elizabeth's cousin, a girl named Audrey who apparently practised Wizard law in some foreign country.

"Yes, I owled it to her, and I believe she's already had it altered."

This pleased Mrs. Weasley. "Well, that's wonderful-- not very long left, you know."

"Six weeks." she said with a smile.

Ginny could see Ritchie up ahead, but he had yet to notice her. She stopped short, figuring how best she could avoid any awkward introductions (and questions). Luckily, something caught Fleur's eye in one of the shop windows.

"What do you t'ink of zese shoes, Elizabeth?" she asked. Ginny saw her pointing to a pair of silver sandals with a thankfully small heel.

"They're nice. Do you think silver would match?"

"Of course. Shall we go in and 'ave a look?"

"Sure. It'd be nice to get something else done while we're here." Elizabeth answered.

Mrs. Weasley noticed Ginny fidgeting. "You have to get back, Ginny?"

"Yeah, Mum, I--"

"All right, dear, Fleur and Elizabeth and I can finish up here. Do you like the shoes too?"

"Yeah, they look nice. You know what size I wear?"

"Of course, love."

As Fleur led Elizabeth and Mrs. Weasley into the shop, Ginny continued up the street, dodging shoppers. Taking a deep inward breath, she approached Ritchie from behind.

"Hey." she said as he checked his watch.

"You're late." he replied with a grin.

"Sorry. I was having a dress pinned to me."

"Sounds interesting. Shall we?"

"I suppose. Where are we going?"

"I'm thinking Madame Puddifoot's."

"I'm thinking you've taken too many Bludgers to the head. The Hog's Head or the Three Broomsticks?"

"Three Broomsticks, then."

"All right."

They walked in silence towards the pub, drawing frequent stares from the Hogwarts students that they passed. After a few awkward minutes, they arrived at The Three Broomsticks. Much to Ginny's dismay, it was quite crowded. Over in the corner, she could see Gryffindor's keeper, a tall fourth-year named Clover Boulstridge, seated at a table of whispering girls, all of whom watched with great curiosity as they found a table place to sit, a table that just happened to be dead centre of the room

"Well, you've really given people the wrong idea." Ginny said as he settled down across from her.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come off it. Do you know how many people have asked me if we're carrying on some sordid affair? Nothing that _I've _said would lead anyone to this conclusion. So, for the record, Ritchie, this is not a date. It was never a date, and it will never bea date."

He nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just… well, I really like you, and I was happy when you agreed to come out with me, even if it's not a date."

His forthcomingness caught her off-guard. "Oh."

A few more awkwardly silent moments passed, during which Madame Rosmerta, who was looking a fair bit older these days, delivered a pair of butterbeers to their table, though they hadn't ordered them.

"On the house, do you think?" he asked as she moved away, weaving through a maze of crowded tables.

"Unlikely."

"Oh well. _Slainté._"

"Cheers."

An hour passed quickly, much faster than she would have expected. Away from the rest of the team, Ritchie was less obnoxious, and even occasionally amusing. Something about him, the jokes he made, reminded her of Ron. Conversation was surprisingly easy, once they had passed the initial discomfiture, and when the time came to settle up and return to the castle, she was actually enjoying herself, despite a nagging feeling somewhere in the back of her mind.

"I've got this." he said, pulling a few Galleons from his pocket.

"I thought I owed you coffee."

"You do. We didn't drink coffee. You can just hold on to your money for next time."

"Next time, eh?"

"Sure."

"Well, we'll have to see."

"Something told me you'd say that."

Back out on the street, they parted ways, even though it was obvious that he didn't want to, and she set off for Hogwarts alone. As she exited Hogsmeade, she found Luna laying on her back in the grass near the road, chewing on the stem of a purple clover and scanning the sky.

"Luna?"

"Oh, hello, Ginny." she replied.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at the clouds. It's really wonderful cloud weather."

"Oh. Yeah, it is nice out."

"Look, it looks just like a hobbit!"

"A what?" she asked, trying to follow Luna's gaze, but all she saw were indistinct shapes.

"Rather like a human, but the size of a goblin. How was your day?"

"Not bad."

"And your time with Ritchie?"

Ginny considered. "I'll tell you something… it really made me miss Harry."

* * *

**Author's Note: OMG! LIKE A DUMBASS, I FORGOT TO PUBLISH THIS CHAPTER BEFORE I WENT ON VACATION **Now back to our regularly-scheduled program. 

You guys are way too good to me-- 16 reviews for the last chapter, much more than I could ask for, especially considering that Paige is an OC. And lots of good suggestions for the anniversary chapter.

My apologies for taking so long to update-- we're leaving for vacation in about two hours, and between trying to pack and get everything together at work, I didn't get as much time to write as I wanted to, and I wanted to give Ginny a chapter of decent length. The last chapters I've written about her didn't exactly focus on her, and I wanted to fix that. Hopefully I'll get to update again next weekend, but I won't have computer access this week... at the beach! Oh yeah!

Warmest personal regards to those who reviewed Chapter Four: Babble, Strawberry-Swirls, AnkokuSama, Gray Eyed Beauty, snaplappl21, LauraWalden, weahhh63, fari9986, Steven Carnell, medfanofreading, Titania400, Jasperella, Shlee Verde, Toph081894, cinroc, and smushly.


	6. Chapter 6

Percy stood up abruptly. "I have to get back to work now."

"So soon?" she asked, not trying very hard to mask the disappointment in her voice. "You've hardly touched your food."

"Thank you for meeting me, Mother. I'll be in touch." He withdrew his wallet and left some Muggle money on the table, then got up and kissed her cheek rather stiffly. Without another word, he turned and walked into the crowd.

Molly sighed as she watched the back of his close-cut suit disappear behind a woman who was leading a trail of blonde-haired children like ducklings. Out of all her children, Percy was perhaps the hardest to reach. Something was going on, that much was apparent in the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the way he pushed his food around the plate instead of eating it. But try as she might to draw it out of him, her questions had been met with undiluted silence.

They had met in Muggle London at Percy's request, instead of The Leaky Cauldron, which would be one of the only things open in Diagon Alley. For what reason, she had no idea, but as it was only just around the corner from The Leaky Cauldron itself, she'd happily agreed, anticipating the opportunity to discuss the plans for Charlie's wedding or something equally benign. Instead, he'd arrived late, in a bad temper, and had barely spoken more than two words at a time, leaving her frustrated and worried-- just when everyone had seemed to be all right, Percy clammed up and George was avoiding her eyes.

After one last bite of her own mostly untouched meal, she replaced Percy's money with some of her own, tucking his into the pocket of her skirt. She dabbed her mouth with the heavy napkin and stepped off the café terrace and onto the sidewalk. It was crowded for a Monday, what with the clear blue sky overhead and comfortable temperatures, pleasantly warm for the middle of April. The walk to The Leaky Cauldron took only took a few minutes, and she was able to pass through the lunch crowd inside with relative ease. Once in the courtyard, she joined a pair of elderly witches passing through the wall, trying not to eavesdrop on their loud chatter about the new book by Rita Skeeter, _Severus Snape: Shades of Black_.

Molly followed the witches at a polite distance most of the way to Gringotts, smiling genially at them as they mounted the steps towards the heavy gilded door. She passed the white marble building, deciding on the spot that whilst in Diagon Alley, she might as well see as many of her children as she could.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was closed, as she knew it would be, but she still paused on the cobbled street, smiling up at the garish window displays that she recognized at George's handiwork, before making her way to the door of the flat and knocking. After a few moments, she heard a lock turn and the door swung open.

"Oh!" Molly said, surprised. Instead of Ron or George, a girl stood in the doorway, one with dark untidy hair and a strangely colourless face. "I'm sorry, I didn't-- my apologies-- is George here?" she faltered, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks. She certainly hadn't been prepared for anyone to have company.

To her credit, the brunette in the dirty t-shirt looked about as embarrassed as she felt. "Oh, uh, he's in Hogsmeade today."

"How silly of me, I'd forgotten. Well, is Ron in?" she asked, sincerely hoping that her youngest son had not spent the morning with what she assumed was a…. guest… of George's.

"He's not here either. Is there something I can help you with?" the girl asked pleasantly, but the expression on her face was now either anxious or suspicious, Molly couldn't determine which.

"Just let them know that their mother was asking after them." she responded, trying to force down the urge to demand to be let in and wait until George returned. _He is of age_, she reminded herself repeatedly, but the mantra did little to make her feel better.

"Yes, of course, I can definitely see the family resemblance." the brunette said, touching her own hair. "Would you like to come in?"

After a measured breath, Molly forced a smile onto her face. "No, thank you. Just let them know, if you would."

"Absolutely."

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome." The girl hesitated, as though the conversation was unfinished. Molly made a little nod in her direction.

"Have a nice afternoon."

"Thanks. You too."

Molly hurried back onto the street as the door closed behind her, congratulating herself on her restraint. Of course she didn't expect any of her children to be living a puritanical life, especially now that nearly all of them were living on their own, but that didn't mean she wanted to be reminded of any, er, supplementary activities that they might be indulging in. _Yes, but_, she thought with a touch of pride, _you acted quite reasonably_.

Gringotts loomed, stark white and imposing, above her, but her mind was still preoccupied as she passed the uniformed goblin that stood outside and through the heavy bronze doors. Beyond, the light was dim and the air was cool, and everyone conducting business was doing so in a murmur, the goblins at their high counters and the witches and wizards that stood before them, trading Galleons and Sickles across the polished wooden surfaces.

The smooth marble floor was inlaid with an ornate pattern, and her shoes clicked loudly across it as she approached the nearest counter. Movement somewhere to the side caught her eye, and she turned, waving happily at the tall, broad-shouldered wizard with the ponytail that approached her.

"Surprise, surprise." He seemed to be shouting in the hushed room, and the eyes of customers and goblins alike turned towards him, taking in the battle damage that crisscrossed his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a teasing smile, and Molly was fairly sure that he knew exactly why she was in Diagon Alley, checking up on most of her offspring in one fell swoop.

"Just in the neighbourhood." she replied, hugging him tightly. The top of her head barely reached his chin.

"How come I don't believe that?" His voice echoed through the bank, drawing even longer glances from the customers. "Come on, let's go outside. It's too gorgeous out to be skulking around in this cave."

She followed him back out through the bronze doors and into the bright noon sunshine, where he sat down on the white marble steps of the bank and stretched out his leg with a satisfied sigh. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled out her wand from the sleeve of her blouse and conjured a squat, plush hassock covered in deep green velvet. Bill chuckled as she settled down beside him, smoothing her skirt over her knees and shooting glances over at the goblin standing by the entrance.

"Practical, Mum."

"Well, I can't exactly hike up my dress and hunker down there with you, can I?" she said, reaching out to touch his hair. A fair portion had worked itself free of his ponytail, and she twisted it between her fingers, smiling at how soft and fine it was, like a young child's. "How are things?"

"Oh, I can't complain. Work is work. Fleur is Fleur." He smiled, a private smile that she recognized quite well as that of someone completely besotted. "There's some talk of sending me out to east--"

"East like Ipswich?"

"East like Hong Kong." She drew a noisy breath in, prepared to voice some objection, but he beat her to it. "But not until after the wedding, sometime in the summer."

"But why so far away?"

"Oh, you know, curses to be broken, gold to be found." He smiled, shifting on the stairs. The uniformed goblin at the door cleared his throat noisily, but said nothing. "It will only be for a week, at most. I don't like to go too far from home these days. At least not for too long."

Something in the tone of his voice made her raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Any particular reason?" There was a long pause before he answered. "No, nothing specific." Again, he spoke again before she got the chance. "So am I the first one you're popping in on today?"

"No." she sighed, and he looked up at her.

"Who's giving you trouble?"

"Not trouble really, love, but... well, I met Percy for lunch today, and he was acting so distant. He barely managed a full sentence the entire half-hour he was there."

"Really? He didn't spend ten minutes sermonizing John Dawlish's choice of outerwear to Kingsley's last interdepartmental conference?"

"Oh, Bill, don't tease."

"You're right, I'm sorry. You wouldn't have mentioned it if it didn't worry you." he said, patting her knee. "Do you think, perhaps, he's just preoccupied? The anniversary's coming up in a few weeks."

"I know, I know. And I suppose it could be that." she said, twisting her hands around in her lap. "I mean, we all know how Percy is, and…."

He reached up and took one of her hands in his, running his thumb across her knuckles. "I know. But don't be too concerned, I'll check into it."

A small weight lifted from her heart, and she looked down at her eldest child, marvelling at how very much his eyes, which were bright and intelligent and a strikingly clear shade of brown, were identical to Arthur's. He was a good boy-- _man_, she corrected herself, _he's nearly thirty, a man_-- and always knew exactly what needed to be done. Over and over, he'd proved himself to be kind and capable, strong in body and spirit.

"Are you fogging up on me, Molly?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." she said tearily, not even noticing that he'd addressed her by her first name. "It's just that I'm so proud of you, you take such good care of them."

"Thank you, Mum, but I can't even do half of what you do for us." He squeezed her hand tightly. "Now tell me, is there anyone else I need keep an ear out for?"

She dabbed at her eyes. "No, dear, no-- wait, yes. Do you happen to know who the young lady-- well, I hesitate to say _lady_, but the idea is still the same-- that answered the door at the boys' flat this morning?"

"You mean, above the shop?"

She nodded.

"That's odd, I thought George was meeting Zonko today."

"He is. She informed that he's still in Hogsmeade, and Ron wasn't in."

Bill's brow furrowed. "What does she look like?"

"Let me see… tall, dark hair--"

"Angelina Johnson?"

Molly laughed. "No, I know what Angelina looks like. Besides, that would just be silly. No, this was a girl I'd never seen before. She had an accent I'm not familiar with. I expect that he knows her from somewhere other than Hogwarts."

"Well, I doubt he'll tell me, but I'll do some investigating."

"Thank you, Bill. You understand your old mum."

"Not all the time."

They shared a smile, and she reached over to ruffle his hair. After a moment, Bill looked away again, his expression becoming serious.

"Did you get a letter the other day?" he asked, still looking down towards the twins' shop.

Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Yes."

There was a long moment of silence. Molly had been surprised a few days ago by a large, officious-looking Ministry owl, carrying a heavy ivory envelope that bore a plum-coloured wax seal. It had contained a letter from Kingsley, detailing plans for a first anniversary service at Hogwarts. It had been very kind.

"Are you going to go?"

"Why Bill, of course."

He nodded, then looked up at her. "Good. I think you should. We should all go."

"Yes." she continued, puzzled. "Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know. Fleur doesn't want to go."

"Oh. I see."

"I told her it would mean a lot if she did. And Beauxbatons is sending a delegation. Gabrielle will be there."

"That's nice."

"Yes." He hesitated. "McGonagall has asked me to speak. And I told her I would. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh Bill, why ever would I mind?"

"Because losing a son and a brother is a very personal thing. Because we should have the chance to grieve in peace, but we give up the privacy for the greater good."

"I know, dear. I struggled with it when my brothers were killed. I watched my own mother go through the same thing. And I made my choice."

He nodded, smiled, kissed her hand. "Just as long as you know."

"Where are you going?" she asked, watching as he rose to his feet.

"Back to work, Mum. We've been out here for forty minutes."

She gasped and jumped up from her hassock, checking her slender gold watch. "I have a roast in the oven!"

"Well, it's a good thing you know how to Apparate." he said with a chuckle, withdrawing his wand from the pocket of his worn jeans and waving it over her little green stool. It faded from the with a soft whickering sound. "Goodbye, Mum, thanks for coming to see me. I'll look in on the rabble-rousers."

"Oh, thank you, Bill. Would you exchange this for me, and put it back in Percy's vault?" She withdrew a few crumpled pound notes from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to him. "And why don't you bring Fleur over for dinner on Sunday? "

"That sounds good."

She scampered down the stairs, waving to him, her thoughts on a tragically blackened roast as she disappeared from the cobblestones.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Holy short chapter, Batman! So, I don't know what my problem has been. It's been a struggle to finish chapters, and I was getting nervous that I was losing interest. However, I guess all I needed to do was get angry, because in the ten days since the WB announced that the HBP movie was being moved back to JULY, I've written five chapters in two different stories, LOL. Hopefully I can go back to a regular updating schedule now, at least for awhile.

Consider this chapter as sort of a gateway, as there's whoa-dramatic stuff coming up in future chapters, including the anniversary of the battle, more on Paige and George, etc. I even abuse Percy some more. Sorry to disappoint the other H/G shippers (like myself), but that is not slated for awhile longer. :)

Finally started reading Twilight last night. I'd taken November 21st off from work, having anticipated going to see HBP at midnight and again during the day. Now that that won't be happening, I figure I'm going to go see SOMETHING that day, and it might as well be Twilight. I'm about half done, and I don't hate it like I thought I would, the story is actually interesting and I like Bella and Edward's interaction. Some of it is just so eye-rolling though. You know what I mean? "Liquid topaz" and "scintillating arms" and other WTF-ery. Now I want to write a parody, GoF/Twilight AU crossover replete with ultraviolet prose in which either Cedric and Edward have mutual man-crushes on each other, or Bella and Cho fall in lust with Cedric and Edward, respectively. Oh Robert Pattinson, you make the lulz so easy-- you look like an Abercrombie model but sound like Chong.

A bunch of Chinese characters meaning thank you (in honor of the Olympics) to those of you who reviewed the last chapter: domslove, Jasperella, cosette-aimee, Babble, snaplappl21, WaffleNinja, crystalight22, AnkokuSama and JadeSeraph.


	7. Chapter 7

"Good to see you, Mr. Weasley, good to see you."

The man in the street stood a head taller than George and looked startlingly different than he'd remembered. The man that had worked the floor at Zonko's had had fat pink cheeks like an overgrown infant, a fussy little beard, and a penchant for loudly patterned shirts under his robes. This man had dark robes, a long goatee that tapered into two points, and a pale, gaunt face. He looked like a mortician.

"Thanks for having me up." George replied, trying not to stare as he shook the proffered hand.

"Well, I recognize you from your old Hogsmeade Saturdays, and naturally we've had acquaintance via owl, but I don't believe we've ever met officially in person. Thessalonius Zonkonowksi, but, of course, you can call me Zonko."

"Mr. Zonko, I'm George Weasley. A pleasure."

"Believe me, son, the pleasure is mine." They stood silently for a moment, the older man smiling expansively. "Shall we go have a look at the property?" he asked graciously.

"Sure."

Zonko gestured up the wide road, where George could see The Three Broomsticks at the outskirts of the village. They fell into step together. "Nice day for a broom ride." he commented, tilting his head toward the Nimbus that George carried. "Did you fly all the way up here from London?"

"Oh, no. My brother arranged for a Portkey for me to Doncaster, and then I flew the rest of the way."

"Ahhh, I see. I was going to say, you must have left at dawn to get up here on time on that Nimbus."

"Yeah, I'm not that punctual."

Zonko laughed. "I know what you mean, lad. One of the main reasons I don't want to come out of retirement is because I've grown accustomed to sleeping until noon, if the mood strikes."

_And marching through the fiefs and hamlets, calling for the townsfolk to bring out their dead, _George thought wryly, sneaking a look at the smiling man with the sombre fashion sense. "I don't blame you," was all he said aloud.

High Street was fairly deserted at this time of day, with most of the shops still closed or just opening up. Zonko knew the history on nearly every building they passed, including what kind of goods they dealt in and the current proprietor. Outside of Scrivenshaft's, a man with a very large falcon on his shoulder nodded at Zonko, who returned the gesture before continuing the tour.

"Of course, we don't get the same volume as you do in Diagon Alley, but business is steady. More so, now, I imagine, than when I took in my shingle." Zonko sighed. "But there's still life in the old place yet. I'm eager to see it revived."

They passed Honeydukes, which had not yet opened for the day, and a tiny candy-pink building, where a plump old witch with something like a doily pinned to her grey head was using her wand to charm the window boxes, cajoling the flowers to open. A few steps beyond the small apothecary was a wide, short building, whose display windows were boarded over. The thatched roof was in bad repair, and dry leaves had accumulated ankle-deep in the alcove outside of the front door, which also had boards nailed over the glass insert. Above, a faded, weather-beaten orange sign still advertised "Zonko's Jokes and Novelty Items." George stood in the street in front of it, trying to remember how long it had been since he'd seen it last.

"Doesn't look like she used to, does she?" Zonko asked after a moment.

"No." George replied quietly, staring up at what looked a bird nest in the moulding above the sign.

"Well, come on in. Let's have a look around."

"All right."

Zonko pressed the fingers of his wand hand against the lock before pointing at it and speaking. "_Alohomora_."

The door swung open on screaming hinges, and George stepped uncertainly into the shop behind Zonko, who busied himself lighting the lamps. The shelves and cases were coated with a thick layer of dust and grime, and it looked like someone had literally beaten a path from the front door to the counter, with shelves broken and displays overturned. China pieces littered the floor at George's feet, and he laid his broomstick against the wall and crouched down to inspect them. He recognized the polka-dot pattern as having belonged to a particularly pricey pair of Nose-Biting Teacups.

He aimed his wand at the remains of the teacups. "_Reparo_." They stirred feebly, but did not come together.

"Sadly, it's been too long for that to work." Zonko said, raising his voice to be heard above the squealing as he closed the door. George straightened up, possessed by the sudden urge to find a dustbin into which he could vomit. Zonko seemed to sense this. "It's been a long time since you and your brother, Godric rest his soul, were in my shop, George. A very long time."

"Yes." he answered, trying to swallow away the film of dust that seemed to be coating his throat.

"I've only been in here twice myself, since that day when I had to leave. It's a shock to the system still, seeing it like this."

"What happened? Why did you have to close so quickly?"

Zonko chuckled, but it was not an amused sound. "'Quickly' isn't the word, George, it was more like 'instantaneously.' As it happened, the owner of The Hog's Head, bloke named Aberforth, came running in here one night in the fall, right when things were starting to get really peculiar. Seems he'd overheard a patron whispering to another that the Death Eaters were planning on paying me a visit--"

"But why?" Zonko smiled, and George realized that he was rudely interrogating the man who owned something that he very much wanted to buy. "Er… sorry."

"No need for apologies, it helps to tell my story. I'm sure you feel the same way-- the more you talk about your brother, the better you feel."

"Oh, uh, absolutely."

"Good, good. Don't forget that. Anyhow, it seems as though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was searching for a man called Gregorovitch."

George's heart skipped a beat. Ron had spoken to him of the search for the Deathly Hallows, albeit very briefly.

Zonko did not seem to notice that George recognized the name. "He was some sort of potioneer, or something or other, and Voldemort wanted him for some reason. For whatever reasons he did anything, I don't know, and I'm glad of that! But this Gregorovitch proved elusive. So they started doing some research, and somehow came to uncover that my mother's maiden name was Gregorovitch.

"No relation, of course, my mother is from Russia-- went to Durmstrang, incidentally-- and this one, the one that the Death Eaters wanted, was rumoured to live near Tábor, but her name was Duscha Gregorovitch, it was there in some book they'd found, and they were interested. So Aberforth comes running in, tells me that the Death Eaters are on their way to 'question' me, and I've got to go. Thankfully, the shop was empty at the time-- not many customers during that period in time, see-- so we extinguished the lamps and put the 'closed' sign in the window, and he pushed me out the back door. I didn't wait around, no, I went home and got my wife, and we left."

"Where did you go?"

"We left Europe altogether, and went over to the US. We met up with some wizards in the city, and they were able to help us stay low, passed us information when they could, even got their hands on a few issues of _The Daily Prophet _for us, it was rather remarkable. The day after Voldemort was defeated, they arranged a Portkey back here to Britain, and here I am. My house was torn apart pretty well, but they left the shop mostly intact, assuming, I believe, that I had made like a fair amount of other shopkeepers in the country and stopped opening up after they dragged Florean Fortescue away."

"Wait-- if you were out of the country for so long, how did Fred and I manage to get letters to you?" George asked, thinking about their first bid to buy the shop.

Zonko nodded towards the door. "That man we saw with the falcon on the street, Scrivenshaft, quietly arranged to handle my mail. But enough about me. I know that you and Fred kept your shop going, even when Gambol and Japes stopped opening up. And I always hoped, that when things settled down, perhaps we three could all sit down and talk business. It saddens me that your brother can't be here with us today, George, but I still want you to consider my offer. I want this place to live again, and I think that only you can give her the breath that she needs."

The two men looked at each other. Zonko's face, even with the many changes the years had made, was as jovial and lively as George remembered from back when he had been dispensing top-of-the-line practical joke advice as he packaged up their purchases, occasionally slipping a few free packets of Belching Powder in with their Dungbombs. George felt odd, a combination of nostalgia and mould as well as a tickling sensation of guilt at the base of his skull. Zonko obviously felt strongly about selling the shop to him, that much was crystal clear. But it would be a massive undertaking, buying and renovating this place.

"Do you mind if I look around?" he asked.

"Certainly not, George. Take a look at anything that catches your fancy. Soon enough, it may belong to you anyhow. "

And so he began a slow circuit of the room, studying not just the bushel baskets of Frog-Spawn Soap and Hiccupping Sweets, but the state of the structure itself. Everything was dusty and smelled stale, but there was hardly any sign of water or spell damage, outside of the locks on the safe and the storeroom, which were warped beyond recognition.

"Scrivenshaft boarded up the place after the Death Eaters came through, and put a new lock on the front door to keep out looters. Of course, that was back before Hogsmeade came to be under martial law." Zonko remarked, with bitterness in his voice. "I doubt anyone but myself has been in here for at least a year."

George nodded, then proceeded into the storeroom. In addition to the merchandise that was arranged on the sales floor, there were perhaps a dozen boxes in the small space, as well as a petite desk under one of the high, narrow windows near the ceiling. He prodded the nearest box with his toe, peering inside as the flaps fell open.

There were neat packages of Hiccupping Sweets lined up inside. He remembered, quite unrepentantly, being seven or eight years old, rummaging through Charlie's school trunk over summer vacation, and Fred pulling out a bag of the brightly coloured candies. Once they had realized that the candies caused a spectacular case of hiccups, the possibilities had seemed nearly limitless. He smiled to himself. These innocuous-looking little sweets were probably why Auntie Muriel had written the twins out of her will. The first time.

Zonko appeared in the doorway, stroking the left point of his goatee. "Mostly just little things back here. You're welcome to look."

"Oh, no, it's fine." George said, still looking down into the box. "Just remembering the first time Fred and I used these. We hope-- hoped our Skiving Snackboxes would work half as well." Finally, he turned to Zonko. "What's your asking price?"

"For the sweets?"

"For the shop."

"I plan to put it on the market for 3750 Galleons, just for the building. The items would go for an additional seven-fifty. However, George, I will sell everything to you, the property as well as all the products, for 2250."

It was a mind-boggling bargain. They had paid just shy of a thousand Galleons, a combination of Harry's Triwizard winnings and their own savings, for the building in Diagon Alley. It had been in an abysmal state, thanks to the prior tenant's backdoor peddling of "exotic" pets, and had required a good deal of work just to get it ready to be fitted for shelving and displays. The rest of the money had gone into their own line of products and things like shop robes and signage. And now, here was a prime space on a main street, just steps from his target clientele, as well as an established line of quality joke ware. Zonko was practically giving it to him at that price. He'd recoup the expense during the first Hogsmeade weekend.

And yet, another shop meant longer hours, more paperwork, and another staff. Sure, he could tap Percy for a speedy approval on a Long Distance Commuter apparition licence, but just thinking of all the time it would take just to get Zonko's ready for re-opening under the Weasley name made him tired. And he'd have to do it alone this time. There would be no Fred to share the load, to make the time go by quicker.

Six months-- hell, _one _month ago-- he would have already invited Zonko to accompany him to his vault at Gringotts, would have owled Bill the night before to have him on standby, waiting to approve a speedy transfer of funds. But there was more to think about now. Now, he was a family man, or close to it, and though it unsettled him to think how quickly he'd grown accustomed to the role, the fact remained that he liked coming home to a clean flat, a warm meal, and a smiling… well, whatever Paige was. It made the place feel like home again, a feeling that had somehow eluded him in the ten months that Ron had been camped out on the sofa. It lessened the blow of coming through the door to Fred's resounding absence.

Not that it had been a smooth transition. Ron was barely present these days-- he showed up to work, but slept elsewhere five nights out of the week, either at Grimmauld Place, George guessed, or Hermione's, or a combination of both. One nights he slept in the flat, he came in late and left early, making himself a bed in the front office and locking himself in, not speaking or even looking at either of them.

There had been a terrific row just before he'd left to get Paige. Not that George could blame Ron for being angry, he'd just sort of announced to him an hour beforehand that a pregnant Muggle would be joining them, to be followed shortly afterward by an infant who may or may not be a Squib. What he hadn't expected-- foolishly, perhaps-- was the continued anger. He'd every intention of trying to smooth things over with Ron, but had not yet had the opportunity. In the shop, Ron spoke to George only through Verity. They'd been busier recently, what with the nicer weather, which left him with little time to try and talk sense into his brother--

"I'll just leave you to your thoughts." Zonko said graciously, surprising George out of his reverie. He followed the man back out into the shop.

"Sorry about that."

"Please, no need for apologies. You'll need time to think. I understand."

"I appreciate that. And I'm afraid I won't be able to give you an answer today. I have to talk to my family before I'm able to make a decision."

"Certainly. Is there anything else I can show you, tell you, while you're here?"

George's eyes swept the shop. It was all here, practically as he remembered it, save for the gloomy, artificial light and the handful of broken objects on the faded Persian carpet. "When are you putting it up for sale?"

Zonko nodded. "I plan on putting it on the market on the first of June. That is, unless I hear otherwise from you."

The first of June. Six weeks. "All right then." He held out his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Zonko, for the opportunity. I hope we can speak again soon."

They shook hands. "As do I, George. As do I. Would you like me to accompany you back to Hogsmeade station?"

"No, thank you. It's been awhile, but I remember the way."

With one last look at Zonko's Jokes and Novelty Items, he retrieved his Nimbus and left the shop. All the others were open now, and a few groups of shoppers drifted in and out. He walked quickly up High Street, keeping his eyes open for Hagrid or McGonagall or anyone else he recognized, but there were few people out. At the top of the street, he glanced at The Three Broomsticks, momentarily contemplating stopping in for a pint, but it was already past noon and he still had a long trip ahead of him. He mounted his broom and kicked off.

He circled around and flew as close as he could to Hogwarts, waving on the minute chance that Ginny was looking out a window, and could recognize him. Then he climbed higher, getting some cloud cover between himself and the ground. Conditions were nearly perfect for flying, though the wind at that altitude was still rather frosty. He brought his elbows in and settled low on the broom, in a racing stance that even Oliver Wood would be proud of, and set off towards London, some 600 miles away.

XxX

A few hours later, he was ascending the creaking stairs of the flat, stiff and achy from the long trip. Pig began to hoot as he reached the landing and rested his broom in the corner, leaning back to try to work out the knot that had formed between his shoulder blades. Paige peeked out from the kitchen as he entered.

"Hey, how did it-- what happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, wrenching off his trainers and dropping them by the sofa. The place smelled good, like lemon oil and food.

"You're soaked." she said, dabbing at his arm with the dishtowel in her hand. "Is it raining?"

"No. I flew." he explained, heading for the bedroom to change his clothes. She sauntered after him.

"So why are you wet?"

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor, where it landed with a thick, moist sound. "Had to stay above the clouds. Can't let you Muggles see me." he teased, casting around for something to wear. She handed him a set of folded pyjamas-- freshly laundered, by the smell.

"Oh." She shook her head. "Sounds needlessly complex."

"No way. Straightforward. Easy. Twice as fast as anything _you _could do." She began to protest, but he cut over her. "Come on. How fast can you drive?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I've never driven a Lambo or anything, but… straight stretch of road, no traffic, no cops, I could do a hundred and ten, easy."

"Awww, bless." he said, patting her head patronisingly, grinning as her eyes narrowed. "You'd be up to Hogwarts in six hours. I made it down here in under four. Flying's much faster. You should come for a ride after…." He gestured vaguely in the general direction of her abdomen.

"I think I'll pass. I don't even like planes." A soft ringing sound came from the direction of the kitchen. "Oh, good. Come on up front, tell me how it went."

"'Twasn't half bad." he said, following her back into the kitchen, where he looked up at the light fixture with a bemused expression. "How in the hell did you get the lights on?"

Out of the myriad little problems that living with a Muggle presented, the light situation was one of the most frustrating. He hadn't anticipated it. The first night she spent in the flat, when she had come back from the bathroom, carrying a towel and looking utterly bewildered. "How am I supposed to turn on the lights?" she had asked, and then he had realized-- she lacked a wand to touch to the wall. He had turned the lights on for her. Afterwards, he'd had a stroke of genius.

"Here, I'll teach you how to do it." he'd said as she returned to the sitting room, handing her his.

She had looked at him warily, then down at the wand, and back up at him before finally saying, "Um, I'm not sure."

"Come on, it's easy." he'd said, standing behind her and taking hold of her wrists, like he was teaching her to hit a Bludger. "Just touch your wand to the wall here--" As soon as the tip of the wand had made contact with the wall, a shower of angry sparks had erupted and the wand had flown across the room, almost blasting through the small kitchen window. That had been the last time she'd tried to use it, and he couldn't say he blamed her.

"Oh, uh, Ron put them on for me." she replied, sliding a pan out of the oven. The kitchen was flooded with the smell of roast beef.

George paused in the act of popping the top off of a bottle of butterbeer. "Well, that's unexpected. He was here?"

"For all of ten seconds. He came in, changed his shirt, turned the lights on in here and in the living room, and then left again. I didn't even get the chance to tell him that your mother stopped by-- oh, are you okay?" she asked, concerned, as he coughed and choked on his mouthful of beverage.

"My _mother _was here?" he spluttered, wiping his mouth.

"Yes, this morning."

"Oh, Godric." he said, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his forehead. "What did she say?"

"Just asked if you were in. I told her you were in Hogsmeade, and she said she'd forgotten. Then she asked if Ron was here, and I said he wasn't. She told me she was your mother, but I'd already guessed, you all look exactly alike. I asked if she wanted to come in and wait, but she said no--"

"Who did you say you were?"

"She didn't ask, and I didn't offer."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"Great. Anyway, she told me to have a nice day, and left. She seems so nice!"

"Ha, right."

"Oh come on, she does. She's so cute and red-haired and little."

"Though she be but little, she is fierce." he intoned darkly, and she laughed. "Seriously. I'll tell you about it sometime." Paige knew that he had been involved in a magical war that Fred had died in, the first anniversary of which was coming up, but he had yet to give her a history lesson; she still marvelled over things like self-inking quills and owl post.

He sat down at the small kitchen table, picking up a heavy copper-topped battery that lay on the tabletop. These were everywhere nowadays, powering the weird plastic radio that had been in her tiny bed-sitter and assorted other odd little things that she had brought with her. There weren't many devices, but there were still an awful lot of batteries. His father would have a field day the next time he was over.

A few moments later, she set a plate down in front of him. "Are you going to tell her?" she asked quietly, sliding into the seat across from him with her own supper.

He nodded. "Yeah. I just… let's get through the next couple of weeks. She's got a lot on her mind."

"I understand." she answered simply.

George offered her a smile, which she returned. "Thanks."

"So, you still haven't told me yet. How was your meeting?"

"Oh, it was good. I like Zonko as much as I ever did, and he seems to really like me. He's offered the property to me at the bargain of a lifetime, and everything seems to be in pretty good shape. It's still all boarded up, but nothing seems damaged."

"Did he go out of business?"

"No. He… closed. During the war."

"Oh." After a moment, she continued. "George, was your war… kind of like the Holocaust?"

"The what?"

"In the forties, a bunch of guys from Germany killed something like six million Jewish people. They didn't fit in with their idea of a perfect race."

He made a noncommittal sound, tenting his fingers in front of his face. This wasn't really a conversation he was particularly eager to have; it had been a long day. "Something like that."

Biting her lip, Paige nodded, turning her attention back to her food.

"I promise I'll tell you about it, one day soon. You should probably get used to other things first, like hexes, and giants. They're key to the story."

"Giants? Seriously?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're odd, you know?"

"How so?"

Shrugging, he responded, "Well, you're pretty much fine with the fact that I just flew six hundred miles in three and half hours, on a broom, through the clouds, from an invisible Scottish castle. Giants, though, you have a hard time with."

"I don't see what you're getting at." she replied with a smile.

"Smartarse."

The rest of the meal passed easily. As usual, he mostly talked, and she mostly listened, interrupting occasionally with questions. The evening's topic had started out at Hogsmeade and had turned to other Wizarding enclaves, and then he found himself describing the Burrow in loving, soppy detail, down to the engine parts his father had hidden in the shed and the way the kitchen smelled when his mother really got going.

Embarrassed, he trailed off. "So what about your place? What's it like where you're from?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell you about it some other time. I want to hear more about yours."

"Well, I expect you'll see it for yourself, soon enough." he said, momentarily worrying that this was a lie. "What else do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your family again."

Easy enough. "Well, there's Mum and Dad--"

"How long have they been married?"

"Hmmm… going on about thirty years, I think. They eloped during the first war."

"There's been more than one?"

"Mmhmm." he answered, continuing quickly before she could ask more. "And then there's Bill. He's twenty-nine, and works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts--"

"The bank up the street? What does a curse-breaker do?"

"Yeah, the bank up the street. And a curse-breaker breaks curses so that the bank can get at gold and treasure and stuff. He's been all over, but does most of his work in Egypt. Loads of stuff there, mind, always tombs and pyramids to be plundered."

"Wow."

"Yeah, we went to visit him there once, about six years ago. It was wicked. Remind me to show you pictures. So, yeah, Bill's married to Fleur, a girl from another magical school--"

"How long have they been married?"

He smiled. "You writing a book, or something?"

"No. I just think it's fascinating."

"If you say so. They'll have been married two years, in August. She works for Gringotts too, part-time, but does record-keeping. No kids yet." he said, anticipating her next question. "And then there's Charlie. He's twenty-seven, and works with dragons in Romania."

"Wait… _dragons_?"

"Oh yeah. Breeds 'em and everything."

"Dragons?" she repeated.

George grinned. "Dragons. You know, great scaly gits who breathe fire."

"Dragons?"

"I can see a field trip will be in order. Yes, dragons."

She stared at him across the table, eyes wide and shiny. "Wow." she breathed after a long pause "Are you serious?"

"As a killing curse." His amusement faded quickly when her expression did not change. "Oi, Paige, are you all right? Your feeble Muggle mind isn't going go off or anything, is it?"

"Not at the moment." she said, shaking her head. "Sometimes you tell me something that just seems… I don't know, _too_ crazy." She smiled. "But carry on."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure am."

"All right." he said cautiously, keeping an eye out for any signs of swooning or puking. "Charlie's the one getting married in June, to Elizabeth, a girl he met in Romania. Then there's Percy. He's twenty-three. He works at the Ministry for Magic, like my dad, and Hermione, and eventually Harry."

"Is he married?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

"It's complicated."

She nodded. "I understand complicated."

"Well, I'm not even sure that I follow it myself, but he has a live-in that's pregnant by another bloke, but they're planning on raising the kid themselves."

"That _is _complicated. When is the baby due?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. August?"

"So it'll be close in age to ours."

This had not occurred to him. "Uh… yeah. Looks like it."

"Does your family know about that?"

"Not my parents…." he trailed off, realizing that she was getting at something else. "Our situation is a little different."

"How so?"

"Well, Penelope and Percy have known each other since Hogwarts, she's a witch--"

"Your family isn't going to like me because I'm not a witch?"

He shook his head vigorously. "That's not what I meant. My family's the biggest bunch of blood traitors in recent memory, they won't care about _that_. It's… it's been a really long, weird year for us. Especially for me. People treat me like…" he trailed off, sighing. This was the worst. "Look, believe it or not, I understand that it must make you nervous that I haven't told a lot of people. But you're here, and so am I, and I'm not going to run off and leave you to do this by yourself. I'll tell my family, and you can get to know them and hopefully grow to tolerate them, but I have to ask that you let me do it on my own schedule."

They sat in silence for a long time. The expression on Paige's face was unreadable. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, George, I respect that. I'm sorry if I seem pushy, but…."

"It's all right." He reached across the table and laid a hand on top of hers, squeezed it quickly, and withdrew. "Do you want to know about the rest of the Weasleys? I'm just getting to the best part."

She smiled. "Sure."

He leaned back in his seat, feeling as though a crisis had been averted. "Next comes me, and Fred." His stomach tightened, but he gritted his teeth and continued on. No more of that, not tonight. "And you know how old we are, and what we do, and how we're the best-looking out of the whole lot."

"I do."

"Good then. That brings us to Ron, who you have the displeasure of sharing this humble abode with. Ronnie just turned nineteen, and he works with me. He's fawned over Hermione for ages, but they've been together for about a year now. You met her, right?"

"Once."

"Well, she's busy working at the Ministry, and Ron's being a total wanker these days, but I imagine you'll see her around sooner or later. And then there's Ginny, who you've met as well. She's eighteen, and is still at Hogwarts, but she'll finish in June, and I can already tell that she harbours a deep-seated desire to manage a branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"Really?"

"Well, no, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try to convince her. And that's all of our lot." She reached across the table for his empty plate and stacked it on top of hers, then got to her feet and brought both dishes to the sink. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Will you turn the bathroom light on for me?" she asked. "I feel kind of grimy. I cleaned out Pig's cage today."

"But don't you want to tell me anything?"

"It'll be my turn tomorrow."

He got to his feet and followed her to the bathroom, where he turned on the light for her. "We've got to come up with a better way to do this. How about we try getting you your own wand? It might work better."

"How about I buy a camp lantern?"

"That's daft."

"I know."

He wandered back out into the sitting room as the sound of running water rose in the pipes. It was strange that he had gotten so used to having an extra person in the flat in just ten days. Granted, Ron had hardly ever been present over the week and a half, but Paige's presence was more useful. She was almost always doingsomething, cleaning or cooking or knitting or reading or, to Ron's chagrin, playing music. "Why does everything have to have a bloody soundtrack?" was the longest sentence he'd spoken in recent memory, having grumbled it angrily to George one night before locking himself in the office.

Having someone else sleeping next to him was odd, especially someone who seemed unable to stay in one position for more than a minute, but even as he was getting kicked and elbowed, it was rather nice not to feel so wretchedly lonely on nights when sleep eluded him. Their relationship was a slippery thing; they weren't overly affectionate or even intimate, but he enjoyed having her around, and especially enjoyed watching her reaction to the magical world.

On the first day, after a short trip on the Underground with a few boxes of her things, he had led her down Charing Cross Road, careful to stop just beneath The Leaky Cauldron's sign. "Look." he'd said, pointing up.

Her mouth had dropped open, and he had smiled, satisfied, until she turned away, saying, "I think I forgot to turn off the stove!"

"No you didn't." he'd said, taking her wrist and gently turning her around, pointing straight up. "Look. Do you see that sign?"

"But there's not--"

"Shh. Just look."

She had looked up, at what he was directing her attention to, and had looked long and hard before her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It's a witch, with a crooked hat and a kettle--"

"Cauldron." he'd corrected.

"Cauldron." she'd repeated. "What is this place?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. Best place in London. Well, at least out here. Come on." And he'd opened the door and ushered her inside.

The pub had not been crowded, and everyone in there had looked rather normal. He'd been hoping for a diverse, even threatening, clientele to rival his first trip inside, but Paige still gaped in disbelief as Tom had sent a pair of gillywaters flying through the air to a witch and wizard sitting at a table by the fireplace.

"Come on." he'd chuckled, nudging her along and into the tiny courtyard in the back. Before she could ask why they were lurking behind the rubbish bins, he'd taken out his wand and quickly tapped the bricks in the blank wall in front of them.

She had sworn loudly as the bricks turned and twisted, revealing the large archway leading into Diagon Alley. He'd had to push her forward onto the cobbled street, and she hadn't even noticed the wall closing behind them. It had been a relatively slow time of day, but there were still people everywhere. She had stared, wide-eyed, at everything in sight, from the spire of Gringotts up ahead to the large display of hooting, flapping owls in front of Eeylops'. Slowly, she had turned to him.

"This is… real?"

"Absolutely."

"And… I've been here before?"

"Yeah, briefly."

"I must have been pretty drunk not to notice." she whispered, turning again to stare out over the scene.

"What do you think?" he asked after another long pause.

"It's astounding."

"Well, come on then. You'll want to see it all."

They had meandered through the shoppers, slowly so she could stop to look at everything. At some point, she had given him the bags she was carrying and went up to the window of the apothecary, staring in through the glass at the bottles upon bottles of potions lined up on dusty shelves. From there, she'd come to a stop in front of Gringotts, gaping up at the snow-white marble building.

"Can we go in?" she had asked breathlessly, reminding him of Ginny as a small child.

"Can we go home and drop all this off first?" he'd responded, nodding down at the armloads of her stuff he carried.

"Oh, sure. Sorry." She'd taken back the bags and set off again, turning this way and that in a vain attempt to take in everything all at once, from the people on the street to the names of the shops to the displays of goods in the windows.

Other shoppers had paused and smiled at her saucer-wide eyes and occasional squeal of delight, and George'd felt rather like a proud father, remembering vaguely his and Fred's first trip into Diagon Alley, and the clearer memories of Ron and Ginny tearing down the street, turning in circles to try and see everything there was to see.

When they had approached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, she'd stopped again and literally gasped, grabbing for his arm with one hand. There, she had ogled the window display of miniature fireworks for a solid minute.

"This is yours?" she had finally managed, in a strangely strangled voice.

"This is the shop."

"It's wonderful."

"Thank you."

A loud pop from the vicinity of the fireplace made George jump into the air, stunned. There stood Lee Jordan, grinning down at him. "Hey George, how's it going?"

"You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack, you foul git." George said, swallowing hard in attempt to rein in his galloping heart.

"Sorry, mate. It's raining pretty hard out there. Didn't feel like waiting for you to open the door."

"A little warning would have been in order."

"Apparently. I didn't expect you to be ready for bed at eight o'clock at night." Lee answered, dropping onto the sofa and gesturing to George's striped pyjamas.

"Yeah, well, I just flew down from Hogsmeade."

"_Flew_? You're mental. I couldn't manage that."

Lee's choice of words started the wheels turning in George's head, and he turned to look appraisingly at his friend. "About that--

At that moment, the water from the bathroom cut off, leaving behind the steady drumming of rain on the roof. Lee looked up as the bathroom door opened.

"George, I--" a female voice began.

George was facing away from Paige, and winced as Lee's eyebrows shot up. He whipped around to find her standing across the room, wrapped in a towel and dripping wet.

"Why hello." Lee said, in an overly suave voice that George had never heard before. "I'm so sorry to intrude. Please forgive me."

"Oh, um, no problem." she replied, turning a rather impressive shade of cerise. "Let me just go get… dressed." And with that, she scurried back into the dark hallway.

"Who was _that_?" Lee asked eagerly as they heard the sound of a door being firmly closed.

"That was Paige." he said, still focused on the many possibilities of taking Lee into his employ. He was loyal, relatively consistent, and had the appropriate level of interest in the merchandise. He understood the target customer. He would look marvellous in maroon shop robes. "Lee, I need to talk to you about something."

"I'd say so." Lee responded, jerking his thumb in the direction that Paige had fled.

"All right," he corrected, "I need to talk to you about _two _things."

But before he could say anything else, though, Paige padded back into the room, dressed and towelled off. "Oh, is it raining?" she said, looking towards the window. "I left clothes out on the line."

"Don't worry about it." George said airily. "I'll get them later. Come meet my best mate. Paige, this is Lee Jordan. Lee, this is Paige."

Lee jumped to his feet and they shook hands, trading greetings. He indicated that she should take the seat he had just vacated, and instead sat across from them on one of the overstuffed armchairs. "So, Paige, what House were you in? I don't remember you from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts."

"Oh, no, I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Beauxbatons, then? I'm trying to place your accent."

She smiled at Lee, but her eyes darted to George, looking worried. He nodded. Might as well get it over with. "No, I'm from the US. And I didn't go to a magical school. I'm… I'm a Muggle."

To his credit, Lee just smiled and nodded. "Well, that explains why I haven't met you yet. How long have you known George?"

"Not too long." she replied simply, shifting uncomfortably.

"Paige and I are expecting a baby." George said suddenly, trying to deflect Lee's interest from her. It worked, and then some.

"I… you… Congratulations." Lee spluttered, his eyes practically boring holes into George's forehead.

"Of course, you're not to repeat this information until we break the happy news to our families." George continued pleasantly, holding an unspoken conversation with his friend with their eyes.

"I won't say a word." replied Lee, nodding firmly at George and turning his enchanting smile back to Paige. "And really, congratulations. I've known this prat for ten years now, and I couldn't imagine anyone better suited to parenting."

"Really?" Paige turned to George uncertainly, but he was laughing.

From there, the conversation eased by degrees, the three of them talking easily until Paige eventually shuffled off again, this time to bed. Lee was on his feet in an instant, pouring on the charm once more. George rolled his eyes good-naturedly, wishing her a good night as she disappeared once more down the dark hallway. As soon as the bedroom door had closed, Lee turned to him.

"You've been busy, Weasley, but I didn't think you were so busy you couldn't spare an owl to your best mate with news like this."

"Funny you should mention that, Lee." George replied, getting easily to his feet and heading for the sideboard. He pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, two glasses, and a heavy piece of parchment written by one Thessalonius Zonkonowksi. He returned to the sofa and placed the items in a line on the table in front of them.

"What's this about?" Lee asked, mystified.

"I'll answer all your questions on two conditions. First, this conversation-- and everything I tell you-- stays between us."

"You have my word. I'll even go Unbreakable Vow."

"Not necessary. Second, you'll listen to a business proposition that I have for you." he answered, pouring out a generous helping of fire whiskey into one of the glasses and handing it over to Lee.

"I'm listening."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, we went from super short to incredibly long. Next week's update is most likely going to be a long one too, so I hope you guys are getting into the story. I find that I always take awhile to get going.

Couple of things about this week... my husband has been reading my absolute favorite fanfiction, **Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives **(stop what you're doing and read it now, if you haven't yet-- it defies explanation but is one of the greatest things I've ever read, period. Starkiller, you are my idol.), and has come to the conclusion that "Fred and George are kind of... jerks." I disagree, of course, but they are rather manipulative, as evidenced here, especially by George's quid pro quo with Lee at the end. Ultimately, this will come into play further down the road. I really enjoyed Paige's initial reactions to magic, but keep in mind that, as in the beginning of any relationship, they're both on their best behavior. Gah, I'm really excited to write more.

Now that I'm reading the Twilight series (halfway through _Eclipse _as we speak), I have to say that I really hope Paige's experiences in Diagon Alley aren't like Bella's responses to the Cullens, which I find to be kind of creepy. There's similar threads there that I wasn't aware of, and I'm kind of embarrassed by them.

Copious expressions of gratitude to those who reviewed Chapter Six: Steel-BonedSelaneen, domslove, cinroc, Babble, Strawberry xx (for her two reviews), JadeSeraph, medfanofreading, weahhh63, and Hyperlily (for her five chapter reviews!).


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